A Feathered River Across the Sky
Page 29
Schorger was meticulous in his research and his life. Data ruled and details mattered. He would spend hours caring for his lawn, removing dandelions by hand. When someone had the temerity to report a rare bird at the Kumlien Club, Schorger would pepper him with questions, the key one often being whether a specimen was procured. One story goes that upon learning of a brown pelican (an oceanic bird that occurs only rarely inland) on Lake Mendota, he raced out to collect it, only to encounter a group of birders who were not happy at the specimen slung over his shoulder. Once he decided that the perfect dessert was blueberry pie à la mode, he had no need for further experimentation, and blueberry pie finished nearly every meal.
Robert McCabe and Joseph Hickey, close friends and colleagues of Schorger’s, both comment on how serious he seemed: no photos show him smiling, he was gruff, had no patience for ineptitude, and was difficult to know. (At least he smiled and laughed in person—unlike Leopold who has been described as almost grim in his countenance.) McCabe and Hickey found these impressions lamentable-because they knew the real Schorger possessed a first-rate sense of humor. The Passenger Pigeon and The Wild Turkey were each criticized for their lack of personal analysis and overabundance of citations and “historical and biological statistics.” Professor McCabe made the point that the body of the passenger pigeon book ends with this sentence: “A photograph of a nest with an egg occurs in Craig.” Still, even in a work written in the Joe Friday style (“Just the facts, ma’am”), there are gems of jocularity that reflect the author’s viewpoint. Perhaps my favorite is on page 85. After quoting the Reverend David Zeisberger to the effect that a foot of dung accumulated at a roost in a single night, Schorger commented, “It is to be noted in the history of this pigeon, data involving the highest figures are given by men of the cloth, a trait not inconsistent with a belief in the miraculous.”
In reading through the boxes of Schorger’s correspondence housed at the University of Wisconsin archives, I was struck not only by how genuinely funny he was but also how considerate to the many strangers who wrote him. A high school senior from Northfield, Ohio, asked Schorger if he could provide her with information on “cyclic reactions in growth and development of plants and animals in the United States,” the subject of her term paper. After confessing he did not really know what she meant, he provided a potentially helpful reference. A letter from a father in Richland, Washington, asked about the wisdom of his son’s majoring in wildlife management. Schorger acknowledged that the field offered limited opportunities, and that “the decision should be based entirely on his personal desires.” (He might have suggested that the prudent course was the one he followed: first, amass a fortune, then pursue the nonlucrative calling.) In July 1968, a correspondent from Livonia, Michigan, wrote a rambling, and in places incomprehensible, letter linking nesting passenger pigeons in Guatemala that were driven north to Michigan by a volcanic eruption in the 1890s and Persied meteors with 1960s grizzly maulings in Montana and mass murder in Saskatchewan. Maybe by then Schorger had mellowed a bit, for he promptly responded, “This will acknowledge receipt of your interesting letter … As to their nesting in Guatemala, there is no record of the passenger pigeon south of central Mexico.”
Ornithologist Ralph Palmer, then at the New York State Museum, sent a short note on January 16, 1961, expressing his interest in visiting Madison: “How is Lake Mendota on or about April 14? Should I bring my bathing suit, or can such be rented locally?” Schorger replied, “Lake Mendota is always open by April 14 but contains ice floes that make the swimming lively. I might add that bathing suits are prohibited, the reason being that no one should feel inhibited.”
(In October 2009, I interviewed several Schorger acquaintances due to the kind assistance of Stan Temple. This piece is, in part, based on those interviews with Emily Early, Marie McCabe, Phil Miles, Gene Roark, and Stan Temple. Ms. Early has since passed away.)
Hickey, Joseph. “In Memoriam: Arlie William Schorger.” Auk 90 (July 1973): 664–71. McCabe, Robert A. “A. W. Schorger: Naturalist and Writer.” Passenger Pigeon 55 (1993): 299–309.
Schorger, A. W., Papers. University of Wisconsin Archives, Madison. To Palmer, January 16, 1961; to Dzuro (student), November 11, 1963; to Livonia, July 31, 1968.
Economics
Economists have used the history of the passenger pigeon to demonstrate why the market system does not prevent extinction. These demonstrations go down two paths. First, with scarcity the price ought to increase. Now that could either depress demand or fuel it, with more hunters trying to cash in on the higher prices and consumers wanting the prestige of buying rare things. (People are willing to pay a premium for acquisition of the higher status that they think comes with spending lots of money: this is known as the Veblen effect.) But in the case of the passenger pigeon, the market was unable to distinguish passenger pigeons from other game, or even domestic poultry, so as the availability of pigeons declined, the overall supply of cheap meat did not. Therefore, passenger pigeon prices neither rose nor did demand fall. Further, because of the few large massings of the birds in the early 1880s, the true rarity of the species was masked, so it was easy for most to assume that there were still plenty.
The second economic principle embodied in the destruction of the passenger pigeon relates to the impoverishment of the commons, a term that could mean a resource open to all or one that is open to a specific group. But given the wandering nature of the species, only national governments could effect limits on the exploitation of the passenger pigeon as a resource, and those laws came too late for this bird. Cornell University economist Jon Conrad wrote a paper entitled “Open Access and Extinction of the Passenger Pigeon in North America,” in which he uses models and formulas to explore the economic factors that led to the bird’s demise. Conrad’s work was summarized at my request by Jeffrey Sundberg, professor of economics at Lake Forest College: “A thriving market for passenger pigeons, technology that allowed for low search costs, low shipping costs, and high remuneration (in comparison with other jobs the hunters could perform), and a low opportunity cost of wage for farmers combined to make extinction a logical outcome, given that no property owner limited access to the resources.”
Conrad, Jon. “Open Access and Extinction of the Passenger Pigeon in North America.” Natural Resources Modeling, 2005.
McDaniel, Carl, and John Gowdy. “Markets and Biodiversity Loss: Some Case Studies and Policy Considerations.” International Journal of Social Economics 25, no. 10 (1998): 1454–65.
Perelman, Michael. The Natural Instability of Markets. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1999, 53–55.
Tober, James. Who Owns the Wildlife? Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1981.
Eugenics
It takes a far more imaginative mind than mine to connect the extinction of the passenger pigeon with eugenics, but the oddest document in Professor Schorger’s papers is the undated Pamphlet No. 58 published by the “successor to Eugenics Society of Northern California”: “We had no wildlife conservation a century ago. Now we strenuously try to save our last whooping crane, our ivory-billed woodpeckers, our roseate spoonbills. Fine. But how about talented humans? With excessive birth control, our irreplaceable leadership types are going the way of the dodo, moa, the great auk, yes … even yesteryear’s passenger pigeon.”
Memorials to the Passenger Pigeon
I am aware of four memorials to the passenger pigeon: (1) In 1947, the Boy Scouts of America dedicated a memorial in the Pigeon Hills of New Hanover, Pennsylvania. It was destroyed by vandals in 1961 and was rededicated on September 12, 1982, at Codorus State Park, where it overlooks Lake Marburg; (2) also in 1947, the Wisconsin Society for Ornithology erected a passenger pigeon monument at Wyalusing State Park in Bagley, Wisconsin (at a ceremony the year before, Aldo Leopold read his essay “On a Monument to the Pigeon,” one of the most poignant ever written about extinction); (3) to mark the Petoskey, Michigan, nesting of 1878, a memorial was installed at the Michigan State Fish Hatchery a
t Oden, Michigan, in 1957. The 1878 flocks had nested over a three-county area, with a large concentration at Crooked Lake, near the hatchery; and (4) the Cincinnati Zoo has preserved the aviary that housed Martha, even spending thousands of dollars to move it a short distance when zoo renovations threatened its existence. Distinguished artist John Ruthven aided the zoo in their preservation efforts by helping raise funds through the sale of prints made of a special passenger pigeon painting he created. He also donated an antique shotgun to the exhibit, never dreaming that someone would break in, steal the weapon, saw off most of the barrel, load it with modern shells, and attempt a robbery. The guy was caught, and at his trial Ruthven had to testify that it was indeed his gun and explained how it wound up as the weapon. The gun was returned and John filled the barrel with lead so it could never be used as a weapon again, except possibly as a club. That is the gun on display today.
Music
1. Opera
The Dresden (Germany) Music Festival commissioned Deborah Artman to write the libretto, and the San Francisco–based Bang on a Can, comprising the three composers Michael Gordon, David Lang, and Julia Wolfe, to write the music, for a unique exploration titled Lost Objects. It was first performed in May 2001. Artman explains that she and the three composers looked to Jewish texts and tradition for inspiration and direction: “The Talmud attempts to define—how lost things bind all people together, how we build our life around things that have been lost and forgotten, or lost and not forgotten.” The pieces range from consideration of the mundane, “I Lost a Sock,” to extinction, “Passenger Pigeon”:
Passenger Pigeon
was once
one of the most
numerous birds
on earth
Thousands of pigeons
carrying messages of
sport
carrying messages of loss
carrying messages of life
No matter how long it is
gone
No matter how far it
has flown
the bird
will always come home.
(The text for Julia Wolfe’s “Passenger Pigeon,” libretto by Deborah Artman, is reprinted by kind permission of Red Poppy Music.)
2. Popular Music
At least three songs focus on the last passenger pigeon. The best known of the songs is the highly sentimental “Martha (Last of the Passenger Pigeons)” by the late giant of bluegrass music John Herald. This touching work, as printed lyrics, is best appreciated by skimming the words without pausing at the mention of “dozers” in the 1870s and the bestowing on Martha of certain intellectual and emotional characteristics that have not yet been documented in birds:
Oh high above the trees and the reeds like rainbows
they landed soft as moonglow
in greens and reds they fluttered past the windows
ah but nobody cared or saw
till the hungry came in crowds
with their guns and dozers
and soon the peace was over
God what were they thinking of?
Oh on and on til dreams come true
you know a piece of us all goes with you.
Oh the birds went down
they fell and they faded to the dozens
Til in a Cincinnati Zoo was the last one
Yes all that remained was the last
with a name of Martha
Very proud, very sad, but very wise.
Oh as the lines filed by there were few who cared
or could be bothered
how could anyone have treated you harder
and it was all for a dollar or more.
Oh on and on til dreams come true
you know a piece of us all goes with you
Oh and surrounded there by some of whom wept around her
in a corner of the cage they found her
she went as soft as she came so shy til the last song
oh the passenger pigeon was gone.
(Reprinted with permission.)
A humorous take on the last passenger pigeon was penned by the Canadian naturalist/musician David Archibald (1994, Rogues’ Hollow Music). Many liberties were taken with the facts, most glaringly turning the last bird into a male. But the goofy tone creates an appealing result in “The Passenger Pigeon’s Lament”:
I was never that beautiful to look at
Still, there were times I was at my best
The ladies would all turn their beaks to see me
When I puffed out my red and manly chest.
They’d keep a staring right above my shoulder
To the favorite part of my anatomy
Where the feathers all were purple, green, and golden
A finer pigeon neck you will never see.
CHORUS
But where oh where have my buddies gone
Where are my family and friends
We used to block the sun
But now I am the only one,
I’m the last of the passenger pigeons.
Sure, we got complaints our nests were always messy
That branches could not stand the heavy load
Now, I wish that I’d inquired what the price was
For contravention of the nesting code.
For they hunted us like dogs, well, more like pigeons
With nets and sticks and guns, they were so rude
Its distracting hearing all those shouts of “Timber”
When you are trying to get your loved one in the mood.
CHORUS
My relatives enjoyed a balanced diet
Be it beechnuts, winter green, or raspberries
For a true gourmet’s delight, you ought to try it
With a farmer’s freshly planted field of peas.
But soon the “family dinner” changed its meaning
Now, what’s a lonely pigeon going to do
When his cousins are all smoked and dried or roasted.
And Uncle Walter’s (that’s Walter Pigeon) always in a stew.
CHORUS
I’m the last passenger pigeon
’Bout to cross the waters Stygian
And I’m hopin’ that religion sees me through
’Cause there’s no one left to care now
For I leave behind no heirs now
I’m alone and in despair now
Yes it is true
I’m just living out my days inside this zoo.
(Reprinted with permission.)
The Handsome Family in their album Twilight (2001) give an accurate rendition of passenger pigeon history in a poignant metaphor for lost love, “Passenger Pigeons”:
Ever since you moved out
I have been living in the park
I’d rather talk to the wind
Than an empty apartment.
And I wish I could forget
How a billion birds flew in
My hollow dying heart
The first time I touched your arm.
Once there were a billion passenger pigeons
So many flew by, they darkened the sky
But they were clubbed and shot
Netted, gassed, and burned
Until there was nothing left
But vines of empty nests
I can’t believe how easily
A billion birds can disappear
The park is empty now
It’s so cold out
And all the paddle boats
Are covered up with snow.
Once again it is dark
The electric lights snap on
But I’m still sitting here
Drinking frozen beer
And throwing potato chips
Into the white snow drifts
Just in case a bird decides
To fly through hinter night
I can’t believe how easily
A billion birds can disappear
Oh, I can’t believe how easily
A billion birds can disappear.
/> (Permission granted.)
Scouse the Mouse is a delightful children’s album featuring Ringo Starr as the main performer, with Donald Pleasance as the producer and author of the lyrics and Roger Brown writer of the music (released in Great Britain in 1977 by Polydor Records). Among the vast literature of the English language, the song “The Passenger Pigeon” is undoubtedly unique in featuring verse that rhymes platypus with Ectopistes migratorius.
Novels
At least three novels devoted to the passenger pigeon appeared in the twentieth century, two by well-known and highly acclaimed authors. The first and most unusual is published in 1938 by MacKinlay Kantor (1904–77), The Noise of Their Wings. (The title is a quote from Audubon.) E. D. Starke, sickly as a child, is sent by his parents to stay one summer with an uncle and aunt who operate a farm in Michigan. Just after midnight one morning, Starke’s uncle rouses the boy from his slumber and forces him to participate in a raid on a passenger pigeon roost. The event leaves an indelible scar on his psyche. When the young man grows to become head of a giant food-canning operation, he devotes substantial portions of his fortune to conservation and scientific efforts. He never loses hope that some passenger pigeons still survive all these years later. With an independence of mind bolstered by great personal wealth, he announces that he will give $100,000 to anyone who can provide him with a living pair of passenger pigeons. Amazingly, a legitimate claim emerges from the Gulf coast of southern Florida. Most of the action takes place when Starke assembles his estranged daughter, a longtime friend who is an ornithologist, and others to receive the birds. A dispute with one of the claimants for the reward results in arson and the death of the passenger pigeons. Kantor includes a bibliography that contains Forbush, Mershon, and French, and what he says about the birds is mostly factual. Time (October 31, 1938) said the story “is teasing and ingenious rather than effective” and that the author spent most of his “vitality … devising a modern plot.” But I respect Kantor for creating a novel that incorporates the passenger pigeon into a plot that goes beyond straight natural history; he reaches out to a potentially larger audience to share the pigeon’s history with those who might not otherwise know anything about it. Kantor wrote thirty books, many of which dealt with the Civil War, including the Pulitzer Prize–winning Andersonville.