American Tertiary mollusks of the genus Clementia

Archival News Yalie Kamara Archives Center, National Museum of American History at Smithsonian Institution This note is an edited version of a blog post originally published on the Smithsonian National Museum of American History website by Wendy Shay with contributions by Patricia Sanders. Click for larger view View full resolution Figure 1. Photograph of the Reverend Harold Mose Anderson. Courtesy of Patricia Sanders. The Reverend Harold Mose Anderson who had always been fascinated by the movies, saved his money and bought a home movie camera. Once he had it, he was seldom without it as he wandered the streets of Tulsa, Oklahoma. Much like a seasoned reporter, wherever he went, he always took time to load up the camera and check his film and equipment. The resulting motion picture, Reverend Harold Anderson's Black Wall Street Film, captured [End Page 350] from 1948 through 1952, has been preserved and made available for use by the National Museum of American History's Archives Center. Anderson's community was Greenwood, a neighborhood of particular cultural relevance in Tulsa, which is featured in the Power of Place exhibition of the new National Museum of African American History and Culture. Often referred to as "Little Africa" in the early years of the 20th century, it later became popularly known as "Black Wall Street." During a time in which segregation limited African-American housing options and prevented black customers from patronizing businesses that catered to white customers only, it had one of the largest concentrations of black-owned businesses in the country. Black Wall Street was a vibrant African American neighborhood with a thriving middle class and well-established institutions including schools, churches, and civic associations. In spite of its thriving nature, in 1921 Black Wall Street was the scene of a massive race riot during which hundreds of African American residents were killed and the neighborhood was burned to the ground. Born in 1922, Harold Anderson grew up hearing the stories and watching the neighborhood's rebirth. In addition to being a witness to the rebuilding and revival of the community, he was also a participant in it. As such, he documented the neighborhood's renewal with his 16mm motion picture camera. Click for larger view View full resolution Figure 2. Anderson's camera captured moments large and small within Tulsa's African American community. In this scene from the film, a young couple poses together while standing in front of the local movie theater. Anderson himself played a major role in the neighborhood's resurgence. A successful businessman, Anderson managed and then owned two [End Page 351] neighborhood movie theaters, a skating rink, a bowling alley, and a shopping strip, among other enterprises. He also brought the Golden Gloves boxing tournament to the area, making it accessible to African American fans. Anderson found it critical that Black Wall Street sustain independent African American businesses to ensure resident dollars would stay in the community and guarantee its future. Almost lost in a devastating house fire, Anderson's film recognizes the efforts and successes of the community. His film footage showed that by the 1940s Black Wall Street once again was home to active African American-owned businesses. He made a special effort to document the neighborhood's barbershops, groceries, taxi companies, jewelers, and other enterprises. He also captured its citizens in church, at school, participating in parades, and on the streets of the area. The film includes footage of Richard and Pat Nixon as they campaigned in Black Wall Street, which was the first time a vice presidential candidate visited the African American neighborhood. As a historic document the film provides a record of a significant time and place in African American history. It allows the viewer to feel the vibrancy of a community that triumphed over tragedy. For more information, visit americanhistory.si.edu/blog/black-wall-street. Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences The Academy Film Archive has recently restored Cauleen Smith's 16mm short film Chronicles of a Lying Spirit (by Kelly Gabron) (1992). The archive, which holds the Cauleen Smith Collection, also recently made new prints of Smith's debut feature, drylongso (1998). Black Film Center/Archive at Indiana...

Review: <i>Curating America’s Painful Past: Memory, Museums, and the National Imagination</i>, by Tim Gruenewald

Previous articleNext article FreeReviewsBulletin of the American Museum of Natural History. Vol. X. Article IV. A Complete Skeleton of Teleoceras fossiger. Notes upon the Growth and Sexual Characters of This Species. Henry Fairfield Osborn Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History. Vol. X. Article VI. A Complete Skeleton of Coryphodon radians. Notes upon the Locomotion of This Animal. Henry Fairfield Osborn Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History. Vol. X. Article VII. The Extinct Camelidae of North America and Some Associated Forms. J. L. Wortman Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History. Vol. X. Article XI. Evolution of the Amblypoda, Part I. Taligrada and Pantodonta. Henry Fairfield Osborn Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural History. Vol. X. Article XII. Additional Characters of the Great Herbivorous Dinosaur Camarasaurus. Henry Fairfield Osborn W. T. LeeW. T. Lee Search for more articles by this author PDFPDF PLUS Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditEmail SectionsMoreDetailsFiguresReferencesCited by The Journal of Geology Volume 7, Number 3Apr. - May, 1899 Article DOIhttps://doi.org/10.1086/608374 Views: 11 PDF download Crossref reports no articles citing this article.

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Cercomacra manu is a distinctive new species in the family Formicariidae. The species is distributed locally in southeastern Peru and adjacent Bolivia at elevations below 1,200 meters. C. manu is secretive and restricted largely to extensive bamboo thickets. The female is gray below; this unusual feature-along with other plumage and vocal characteristics-places C. manu within a species group that contains four other, allopatric South American taxa. We suggest that manu is closest to C. melanaria of eastern Bolivia and Mato Grosso, Brazil.

The evolution of a great mind: the life and work of Darwin

Sanborn, Allen F. (1999): Cicada (Homoptera: Cicadoidea) Type Material in the Collections of the American Museum of Natural History, California Academy of Sciences, Snow Entomological Museum, Staten Island Institute of Arts and Sciences, and the United States National Museum. The Florida Entomologist 82 (1): 34-60, DOI: 10.2307/3495835, URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.2307/3495835

Wilson D. Wallis 1886-1970

Locust Walk at the University of Pennsylvania is amongst the most beautiful college streets in America. As I strolled there a few weeks back with Peter Dodson, the Guest Editor of this Special Issue and one of the great professors of that venerable institution, I could not help but imbibe the energy of the students around us mixed with the sweetness of the late spring air. As I had since we first met at Yale around our Anatomy dissecting table in the fall of 1973, I listened attentively to Peter, enraptured by his energetic wealth of knowledge. As anyone who has taken anatomy knows, you always remember your dissection tablemates, and Peter is indeed memorable. At the time we met, I was a trembling, beginning graduate student and Peter an already wizened warrior finalizing his dissertation. As he showed me how to correctly load the scalpels (and always helped me with the band-aids I would need when I missed) he would wax eloquently about ceratopsian dinosaurs, interpreting fossil remains, and reconstructing phylogenies all interspersed with our more mundane daily chores around the cadaver. He was both a role model and a mentor, and I appreciatively followed along. Now, as then, I followed his lead, and that led to a reddish building just off the Walk known as The Wistar Institute of Anatomy. "Why are we stopping here?" I asked, a little perturbed, an ever-compulsive New Yorker eager to get to our work, the precious trove of manuscripts waiting on us in his lab. "I'd like to see if we can visit Professor Leidy," Peter answered, "it would be most appropriate." "Wow, Joseph Leidy has a descendant now at Penn?" I asked incredulously. "No," he answered, "his brain is here." As it turned out, while the great Professor's brain was indeed in residence, we had not made an "appointment" and so he (it?) could not receive us, we were duly informed by the guardian who came to explain. Although Peter implored that we were his academic "relatives" and I chimed in to suggest he (it?) would be pleased to see us (I should have been quiet as this didn't help; we got a stern and odd look), she was adamant that we would need to make an official request much further in advance. The Professor did not receive "drop in" visitors. Although our pilgrimage was not successful on that day, we are making our plans to return, and will request an appointment appropriately far in advance (just as well, as I'd like to be better dressed than I was to meet The Professor.) But, you may ask, why the visit in the first place, why was the brain of this man preserved, and who was Joseph Leidy, anyway, and what were his ties to anatomy, dinosaurs, or this Special Issue, "Unearthing the Anatomy of Dinosaurs: New insights into their Functional Morphology and Paleobiology" (Dodson, 2009a)? All this needs a little explaining. In our world today, dinosaurs are again kings of the planet, at least in terms of which beasties fascinate the public. Who amongst us did not as a child have a plastic T-Rex or Brontosaurus (I know, I know, it's the wrong name now, but Apatosaurus just won't work for anyone who doesn't live in a museum)? Whenever I work at the American Museum of Natural History here in New York, I have to push through the throngs of school children clamoring to see our assortment of Jurassic meat-eaters and Cretaceous vegetarians with names they gleefully try to pronounce with a combination of amazement and joy. If one looks carefully, one can even see how different personality types radiate to different dinosaurs: the aggressive kids run to Tyrannosaurus; the mischievous ones love Velociraptor; the thoughtful ones ponder the horned dinosaurs; the kids with the pocket-protectors love the odd-looking duck-billed hadrosaurs; the vegetarians, gentle souls, and chubby kids, make a direct path to the brontos (I loved the brontos; indeed, my first time being ejected from the museum was due to climbing on one.) Dinosaurs are part of our 21st century culture, as alive today as when they thumped across the earth millennia ago. It is a little difficult to fathom a world in which dinosaurs were not part of our imagination. They are, however, actually a relatively recent part of our vernacular. Indeed, the "Dinosauria" (meaning "terrible lizards") were only first named as such in 1842 by the great British anatomist and paleontologist Richard Owen (1842). He included in this the few extinct "reptile-like" fossils that had been found previously, notably the Reverend William Buckland's Megalosauraus (arguably, the first "dinosaur" discovered in 1824) and the remains of Iguanodon and Hyaeosaurus, described by Gideon Mantrell in 1825 and 1833 (Buckland, 1824; Mantrell, 1825; see Dodson, 2009b, for discussion). So, with the insight and wisdom of the great anatomist Owen, dinosaurs took their first thunderous steps. A little over a decade later they were "brought to life" in the famous reconstructions by Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins (under Owen's guidance) at the Crystal Palace exhibition of 1854 in Sydenham, England. One can only imagine the awestruck crowds that viewed these great, towering, mega-lizards of the long-distant past! By the mid 19th century, dinosaurs had thus been hatched, so to speak, but certainly were not the subject of everyday conversation, particularly on this side of the pond. That would start to change in 1856, when our Professor Leidy—the "brain" we went to see—would describe the first American dinosaurs from fossil teeth sent to him from deposits along the Missouri River in present-day Montana. Here is where Leidy enters the story. The material was sent to him, as Joseph Leidy (1823–1891) was arguably the preeminent scientist of the middle part of the 19th century. He was the 19th century version of da Vinci, a man whose scope of expertise was so truly extensive that his recent biographer, Leonard Warren, titled his book, The Last Man who Knew Everything (Warren, 1999). The regal Professor of Anatomy at the University of Pennsylvania (which he would hold for almost 40 years), trained as a physician, with knowledge (and many publications) in fields ranging from gross anatomy, to microscopy, to parasitology, to protozoology, to paleontology. The Professor reigned supreme. Indeed, when the American Association of Anatomists—the parent body of this august journal—was founded in 1888 (as the Association of American Anatomists), Leidy was chosen in absentia as its first president. (Basmajian, 1987; Clemente, 1987). It is what my kids would call a "no brainer;" JL (nice initials) was unquestionably the man. Thus, it was no surprise that if one wanted to know what some interesting old bones were, they would send them to the great Professor. (To answer one of my above questions, it was the custom in the 19th century to preserve the brain of a great "mind," for example, Paul Broca's is similarly honored in the Musee de l'Homme in Paris; when my teenage daughter asked me what I was writing about, and I explained the above, she looked at me, patted me on the head and said, "don't worry Dad, yours is safe.") Although Leidy recognized the teeth he had received as belonging to extinct reptiles of various types, and named them scientifically (Deinodon, Trachodon, Troodon, Palaeoscincus), they were not monumentally important specimens, save for the historical nature of their being the first. A few years later, however, Leidy was brought material unearthed from—of all places—New Jersey (more famous in our time for burying the occasional vertebrate). This was a marvelous, and extensive, collection of cranial and postcranial bones that Leidy anointed as Hadrosaurus—the extraordinary-looking duck-billed dinosaur. He estimated it to be 25-feet long and, based upon its small forelimbs and long hind limbs, reconstructed it in a "kangaroo-like" stance, with semi-upright posture (Leidy, 1858, 1865; Dodson, 2009b). The vertical "dinosaur" of our imagination was thus born and, when it was given life at the Academy of Natural Science in Philadelphia in 1868 in the first museum display of any dinosaur, our image of dinosaurs that ligers to the present began to take shape. As the world of the dinosaurs began to gradually emerge, the American West became the epicenter of extraordinary finds. Interestingly, Leidy's role—so pivotal at the outset (he published about 230 papers on paleontology, Warren, 1999)—changed radically and, largely, by his own choice. This was mostly due to the "tone" that dinosaur paleontology gradually accrued to itself in the 1870s and 1880s—a fiery, combative, and combustible cacophony that was more and more unsuited to the scholarly, genteel, multidimensional, Renaissance man from the City of Brotherly Love. This tone was set in place due to a rivalry between two men—Othniel C. Marsh and Edward Drinker Cope—that was arguably amongst the most angry and vitriolic in the history of science (see Shor, 1974; Hellman, 2007). The seemingly never ending battles between Marsh and Cope increased in intensity during the last quarter of the 19th century as each sought pre-eminence in the burgeoning field of paleontology. Cope was a Pennsylvania product who studied anatomy under Leidy and eventually assumed Leidy's Chair in zoology and comparative anatomy at Penn toward the end of his life; Marsh was a Yale graduate who was blessed with a rich uncle, George Peabody, who largely effectuated his being named as the nation's first Professor of Paleontology at Yale. For most of the latter part of the 19th century, dinosaur studies in the United States revolved around this Yale/Penn axis, with Cope and Marsh gaining near Olympian stature, as Leidy, the great Titan of old, withdrew from the battles. The gentle, sweet-natured, scholarly man of the dissecting lab and microscope, could not, would not, compete with often ill-tempered, tabloid-hungry prima donnas that would pay hefty amounts for every fossil the Wild West gave up. He withdrew from the fray, returning to the scholarly pursuits and teaching he was more comfortable in. Part of the sadness of this tale is that while Leidy largely set the stage for our knowledge of dinosaurs, he and his accomplishments were essentially ignored by the egomaniacal appetites of Cope and Marsh. Indeed, most of the fossils that were named by Leidy were renamed by Cope and Marsh (at one time, there were three names for each species!) In speaking of the above "burial" of the findings and accomplishments of Leidy by Cope and Marsh, the famous early 20th century paleontologist and future President of The American Museum of Natural History, Henry Fairfield Osborn, simply and clearly noted in a presentation honoring Leidy: "I am not quite sure, but I doubt if you will find in the writings of Professor Cope or Professor Marsh a single allusion to the work of Leidy" (Osborne, 1923; also see Warren, 1999 for full discussion). Not only were Cope and Marsh gluttonous carnivores in their quest for bones, they were equally rapacious in devouring the memory of the man who made their work possible. Thus, my focus here on Joseph Leidy, arguably the most important, learned, honored, and least remembered great man of 19th century science, and the person who truly birthed the anatomical study of dinosaurs on this continent. It is fitting that his name be honored, and his story retold, in this Special Issue. Peter Dodson, our Guest Editor, is in many ways a true heir and descendant of the great man: like Leidy, a Penn Professor, anatomist, multidimensional scholar, extraordinary teacher and raconteur, and a gentleman of the old school (put up with me, didn't he?). In this Issue, Dodson has used his own gravitas as a doyen of the field (he is the shepherd of all horned dinosaurs, e.g., Dodson, 1996, as well as a historian and interpreter of the field, e.g., Dodson, 2008, 2009b, c) to pull together a wonderful and varied herd of dinosaur anatomists who have collectively worked together to yield a rich volume of the state-of-the-art knowledge of dinosaur form, function, behavior, and evolution. Within this collection, a number of varying dinosaur groups come under the paleontological scalpel, including, the well-known tyrannosaurs, the duck-billed hadrosaurs (first recognized by Leidy), the horned ceratopsians, herbivorous groups like the club-tailed ankylosaurids, to the current "rock stars" of the dinosaur world, the velociraptors. As varied as the groups are, so too are the regions studied with nooks and crannies from head to clawed toe being examined. For those of you, like me, who are not cognoscenti of dinosaur anatomy, studies deciphering the functional anatomy of an array of horns, claws, specialized teeth, cranial crests, tail clubs, and the like, will remind us to why we radiated to the dinosaur halls in the museums in the first place. These are wonderful and wondrous things to behold! A theme that winds through many of the studies—and will resonate with readers of this journal—is the hypothesis-driven science that drives many of the approaches. Elegant tests abound to explore a range of topics, including: how to reconstruct jaw muscle anatomy, the anatomy underlying sensory organization and behavior, bone strength as it effects posture and locomotion, the use of extant species of birds as experimental models of bone structure in dinosaurs, new methods of bone surface texture as indicators of dinosaur aging, and the use of skeletal markers as an aid in determining respiratory biology and behaviors. Most impressive as well are the range of cutting-edge approaches and techniques that are used to extract information from the otherwise silent bones, such as computational modeling, finite-element analysis, and advanced CT analysis. Lastly, but far from least, while the core of the special issue revolves about deciphering the functional anatomy of dinosaurs, considerable insights on behavior patterns, lifestyles, and population biology permeate many studies. As a graduate student at Yale, I became very familiar with the finds of Marsh (filling every shelf of the Peabody—his uncle George's—Museum there) as well as the work of his hated competitor Cope (a large part of whose collection was sold to the American Museum of Natural History in New York; see Preston, 1986). Like most other young students, they were the names that we were weaned on, the names on the fossils sleeping on every dusty shelf. It was only when I began to dig deeper into the core of the science (after actually listening a bit to Peter and getting more interested in the strange beasts he clamored on about) did I start to find, and then appreciate the work of Leidy. Even as a budding anatomist, I could appreciate the meticulousness of his science, his descriptions, comparative anatomical perspective, and understanding of functional underpinnings, aspects that I at times found wanting in the tomes of Marsh or Cope. While Marsh and Cope, with their paleontologist's flair for the drama of obtaining material and the accompanying public glory that ensued, may have done much to capture the country's fascination with dinosaurs, it was Leidy who set the early bar for the scholarship and science of the anatomical interpretation of dinosaurs. Simply put, where Leidy was all about the science of dinosaurs, for Marsh and Cope it at times took a far second behind the glitz and glamor of recognition and adulation. As demonstrated in this Special Issue, Dodson and his like-minded brethren have clearly taken up the mantle in the search to understand the science behind the world of the dinosaurs; they are the true heirs of Joseph Leidy. Indeed, I think the Professor would be most pleased by the work his offspring have produced, and look forward to bringing a copy as a gift when Peter and I visit him on my next trip to Penn.

The Cover Design TILTING AT WINDMILLS ARTHUR P. MOLELLA At the beginning of the 1980s, the Smithsonian Institution’s Na­ tional Museum of History and Technology abruptly shed its original name, a designation that revealed its fundamental kinship with the Deutsches Museum and other national technical museums, to become the National Museum of American History (NMAH). The aim of the change was to repair an uncomfortable split in the museum’s identity, a rift that had evolved between the institution’s science and technol­ ogy departments, on the one hand, and the political and cultural history departments on the other. Example: transportation displays that focused on the technological development of railroads and auto­ mobiles, all but ignoring their effects on American cities and the American landscape. The refurbishing of the museum’s public image involved more than hoisting a banner to cover up an old name with a new one. At one time, it also included bold plans for a general face-lift of the building’s exterior. One such plan is represented by the architect’s sketch on the cover of this issue (fig. 1), showing a cluster of historic and modern windmills, some of them actually pumping water or gen­ erating electricity for the edification of museum visitors. Not shown in the sketch is a complementary treatment of the museum’s east side; there exists a similar architect’s drawing picturing a streamlined railroad locomotive on the lawn adjacent to the transportation hall. The instigator of these transformations was the museum’s newly appointed director, Roger G. Kennedy. When Kennedy announced the new name for the museum soon after his arrival at the Smithso­ nian, many believed that the institution had begun to renege on its original commitment to the history of technology and science. FeedDr . Molella is head of the Department of History and director of the Lemelson Center for the Study of Invention and Innovation at the National Museum of Ameri­ can History. He was Technology and Culture’s book review editor from 1983 through 1987, then an advisory editor until 1993.© 1995 by the Society for the History of Technology. All rights reserved. 0040- 165X/95/3604-0008$01.00 1000 Tilting at Windmills 1001 Fig. 1.—Technology and Culture’s fourteen-year home, the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of American History, might have looked something like this archi­ tect’s sketch if a proposed north front featuring a collection of old and new windmills had been accepted. But the only main-entrance change at the start of the 1980s was the museum’s name, which had been the National Museum of History and Technology. (Smithsonian Institution neg. 95-2679.) ing their apprehensions was the new director’s résumé. Unlike most of his predecessors, Kennedy was neither a technology nor science historian, but a banker, lawyer, and foundation officer with a keen avocational interest in the history of architecture.1 Fearing a down­ grading of science and technology, some loyalists of the old Museum of History and Technology went so far as to wage a campaign to restore the original name. Perhaps they were not aware that the same man who had rechristened the museum was simultaneously laying plans for a new institutional billboard giving pride of place to some enormous specimens of technology. Indeed, Kennedy turned out to be a good friend to the history of technology at NMAH. A devotee of architecture, but no fan of the building he found himself occupying, he was eager to experiment 'For a perceptive profile of Kennedy and his vision of the National Museum of American History, see Michael S. Durham, “Keeper of the Attic,” Americana 15 (No­ vember-December 1987): 43-48. 1002 Arthur P. Molella with ways of brightening the museum’s monolithic 1960s-style facade. The story of how windmills and locomotives almost found a home on the plaza of the National Museum of American History goes as follows. In early 1980, Kennedy asked the curatorial staff to submit sugges­ tions for artifacts to replace the fountain and surrounding landscap­ ing in front of the building. He wanted large objects that would lend visual interest to the facade and be suggestive of...

JntertexTs, vol. 1» no. 2, Fall 1997 Inner Anxiety and Outward Exploration: The American Museum of Natural History and the Central Asiatic Expeditions Ronald Rainger T e x a s T e c h U n i v e r s i t y In the 1920s and 1930s, New York’s American Museum of Natural History initiated some of the most extensive and highly publicized explo¬ rations of the early twentieth century. Promoted largely by the institution’s president, Henry Fairfield Osborn, the museum sent scientists, explorers and wealthy business associates to “the ends of the earth” to record information and return with specimen collections for the vast repository on Central Park West.^ During the 1920s and 1930s, the museum sponsored Lincoln Ellsworth’s bid to be the first to fly over the North Pole (Amund¬ sen), Carl Akeley’s expeditions for elephants which he would later display in the museum’s Theodore Roosevelt Memorial (Akelcy; Haraway 26-58), and William ICing Gregory’s efforts to capture gorillas in the Congo (Gregory and Raven). Through the museum’s use of “incessant and nationwide publicity” (Wissler, 203), the public avidly followed the exploits of these and other explorers (Perkins). Among the museum’s most famous endeavors were the Central Asiatic Expeditions of the 1920s. Conceived and led by the museum scientist Roy Chapman Andrews, these were aseries of eight explorations between 1922 and 1930 to the Gobi Desert of Mongolia for the purpose of discovering the “missing link.” The expeditions received extensive coverage in peri¬ odicals and the popular press. In addition, Andrews was idealized as an intrepid explorer, adashing, fearless young gentleman pursuing adaring adventure in aremote, mysterious region of the world. Andrews reinforced that image through radio presentations, his popular book. On the Trail of Ancient Man^ and anumber of autobiographical accounts (Andrews, Ends of the Earth-, Lafollette 55, 57-58). Yet Andrews’s expeditions and personal ambitions embodied more than an interest in adventurous fieldwork and specimen collection. The Central Asiatic Expeditions as well as the museum’s other efforts were the product of aparticular culture. They reflected the ideas and objectives of an early twentieth-century New York elite of politicians, businessmen, scientists, and sportsmen who had close associations with the American Museum of Natural History. For those individuals’ expeditions to the Arctic, Central Africa or Asia constituted scientific analogues to America’s expanding 1 7 7 1 7 8 I N T E R T E X T S political and economic power. The museum’s expeditions were also ameans for preserving traditional ideals and values, for sustaining the power and prestige of aparticular class and ethnic group in asociety that was becoming increasingly urban, technological and pluralistic. As articulated by Osborn and actualized by Andrews, the museum’s outward ventures were an effort to quell inner anxieties among the museum’s and the nation’s elites. Those concerns and objectives reflected the museum’s social structure. By the early twentieth century, the American Museum was one of the largest institutions of its kind in the world. Although apublic museum, its trustees and administration were dominated by such powerful figures as the financier J.P. Morgan, the politician Joseph Choate, and railroad presidents E. H. Harriman and Cornelius Vanderbilt. Those individuals were not interested in science per se; rather the museum reflected their civic, philanthropic, and proprietary interests. As devout Protestants of Scottish and English heri¬ tage, these were men who had created the YMCA and served on the board of the Society for the Suppression of Vice. They helped establish the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the New York Public Librar>^ and other major civic cultural institutions (Satterlee; Mercer; Rainger 54-56). Originally the American Museum did not embody any specific policies or objectives, but given its leaders’ religious interests and concern for social welfare and social control, it was to serve as aplace where the urban masses could participate in an acceptable form of entertainment and could learn of nature’s bounty andmagnificence(Green). By the early twentieth century the museum’s leaders were emphasizing an additional theme: the presen'ation of the country’s flora, fauna, and physical environment. The commercial, industrial, and...

Evolutionary Anthropology: Issues, News, and ReviewsVolume 32, Issue 1 p. 2-4 IN MEMORIAM Judith Masters 1955–2022 and Fabien Génin 1971–2022 Massimiliano Delpero, Massimiliano Delpero Department of Life Sciences and Systems Biology, University of Turin, Turin, ItalySearch for more papers by this authorIan Tattersall, Corresponding Author Ian Tattersall [email protected] orcid.org/0000-0002-0640-8248 American Museum of Natural History, New York, New York, USA Correspondence Ian Tattersall, American Museum of Natural History, New York, NY, USA. Email: [email protected]Search for more papers by this author Massimiliano Delpero, Massimiliano Delpero Department of Life Sciences and Systems Biology, University of Turin, Turin, ItalySearch for more papers by this authorIan Tattersall, Corresponding Author Ian Tattersall [email protected] orcid.org/0000-0002-0640-8248 American Museum of Natural History, New York, New York, USA Correspondence Ian Tattersall, American Museum of Natural History, New York, NY, USA. Email: [email protected]Search for more papers by this author First published: 30 November 2022 https://doi.org/10.1002/evan.21968Read the full textAboutPDF ToolsRequest permissionExport citationAdd to favoritesTrack citation ShareShare Give accessShare full text accessShare full-text accessPlease review our Terms and Conditions of Use and check box below to share full-text version of article.I have read and accept the Wiley Online Library Terms and Conditions of UseShareable LinkUse the link below to share a full-text version of this article with your friends and colleagues. Learn more.Copy URL No abstract is available for this article. Volume32, Issue1February 2023Pages 2-4 RelatedInformation

Sceloporus adleri, a new species founded on 41 specimens, is related to the geographically adjacent species S. formosus, and is presumably limited to the Sierra Madre del Sur, Guerrero, Mexico. This Sierra appears to possess sufficient biotic endemism to justify recognition as a distinctive biotic province. Among specimens secured in Guerrero, Mexico, by Kraig Adler and his group during the winter of 1969, are 12 of a remarkably colorful species of Sceloporus cryptically related to S. formosus Wiegmann. Several other specimens of the same species had been secured by Adler earlier in the same area, and an additional series was secured for us in 1972 by David M. Dennis. We name this population Sceloporus adleri sp. nov. Holotype.-University of Michigan Museum of Zoology (UMMZ) 131689, a male, taken at Asoleadero, Guerrero, Mexico, 2520 m, on 17 December 1969, by Kraig Adler, David M. Dennis and David H. Snyder. Field no. MN 4466. Paratypes.-Forty, all from Guerrero, including UMMZ 126282 (5, field nos. IJ 1522-6), Cerro Teotepec (ca. 125 km by road W Xochipala), 3300-3400 m., 10 August 1964, Theodore J. Cohn and Jean Cohn; UMMZ 130134 (6, field nos. GH 9264-7, 9270-1), between Puerto Chico and Asoleadero, 2550-2600 m, 13-14 June 1964, Kraig Adler, Guy G. Musser and James H. Brown; Colorado University Museum (CUM) 50651-3, 5 km E Escalerillo, 2460 m, 20 December 1972, David M. Dennis, David H. Snyder, Mike Silvey, Don F. Harker; Field Museum of Natural History 191335-6, U.S. National Museum (USNM) 193236, University of Illinois Museum of Natural History 93532, all topoparatypes, 16 December 1969; Kansas University Museum of Natural History (KUMNH) 143612, CUM 46010, Museum of Comparative Zoology (MCZ) 129779, Brigham Young Univ. Mus. 40188, American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) 108211, California Academy of Science 133089, all topoparatypes, 17 December 1969; British Museum (Natural History) 1971.1856, ca. 3km (by road) E Puerto Gallo, 2740 m, 19 December 1969; CUM 50636-50, 2415 m; all topoparatypes, 19 December 1972, David M. Dennis, David H. Snyder, Mike Silvey, Don F. Harker. Twenty (USNM, KUMNH, CUM 46010, 50639-42, 50644, 50646-7, 50649, 50652, MCZ, AMNH, UMMZ field nos. 1522-3, 1526, 9264-5, 9270) are males; all others (20) are females. Collectors are Kraig Adler, David M. Dennis and David H. Snyder, unless otherwise noted. Definition.-A Sceloporus of the formosus group, distinguished from other members by the following combination of characters: mean dorsal scales 38.4; mean ventral scales 49.4; mean scales around midbody 43.7; mean femoral pores 13.3; mean scales between femoral pore series 12.8; median frontonasal in contact with lateral frontonasals; supraoculars generally not distinctly wider than long and generally not in contact with median head scales; scales on posterior surface of thigh relatively small; an incomplete, posteriorly light-bordered black nuchal collar; a pair of dorsolateral light stripes (obscure in large males); tan to dark brown dorsally in *Present address: Museum of Natural History, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kansas 66045, USA.

American AnthropologistVolume 41, Issue 2 p. 223-244 Free Access FURTHER NOTES ON BASKET MAKER III SANDALS FROM NORTHEASTERN ARIZONA GORDON C. BALDWIN, GORDON C. BALDWIN Arizona State Museum Tucson, ArizonaSearch for more papers by this author GORDON C. BALDWIN, GORDON C. BALDWIN Arizona State Museum Tucson, ArizonaSearch for more papers by this author First published: April‐June 1939 https://doi.org/10.1525/aa.1939.41.2.02a00030Citations: 5AboutPDF ToolsExport citationAdd to favoritesTrack citation ShareShare Give accessShare full text accessShare full-text accessPlease review our Terms and Conditions of Use and check box below to share full-text version of article.I have read and accept the Wiley Online Library Terms and Conditions of UseShareable LinkUse the link below to share a full-text version of this article with your friends and colleagues. Learn more.Copy URL Bibliography Alexander, Hubert G., and Reiter, Paxil. 1935. Report on the Excavation of Jemez Cave' New Mexico (Monograph of the University of New Mexico and the School of American Research, No. 4, Santa Fe). Baldwin, Gordon C. 1938a. Basket Maker and Pueblo Sandals (Southwestern Lore, Vol. IV, No. 1, pp. 1– 6, Gunnison). 1938b. An Analysis of Basket Maker III sandals from Northeastern Arizona (American Anthropologist, Vol. 40, No. 3, pp. 465– 485, Menasha). Cornelius, Olive Frazier. 1938. Basket Maker Sandals (?) (Southwestern Lore, Vol. III, No. 4, pp. 74– 78, Gunnison). Cummings, Byron. 1910. Ancient Inhabitants of the San Juan Valley (Bulletin, University of Utah, 2nd Archaeological Number, Vol. 3, No. 3, Pt. 2, Salt Lake). 1915. The Textile Fabrics of the Cliff Dwellers (reprint of paper presented before the National Association of Cotton Manufacturers, April 28–29, 1915, Boston). Douglass, A. E. 1935. Dating Pueblo Bonito and Other Ruins of the Southwest (National Geographic Society, Contributed Technical Papers, Pueblo Bonito Series, No. 1, Washington). 1936. Central Pueblo Chronology (Tree Ring Bulletin, Vol. II, No. 4, Flagstaff). Fewkes, J. Walter. 1909. Antiquities of the Mesa Verde National Park: Spruce Tree House (Bulletin, Bureau of American Ethnology, No. 41, Washington). 1911. Antiquities of the Mesa Verde National Park: Cliff Palace (Bulletin, Bureau of American Ethnology, No. 51, Washington). Gladwin, Harold S. 1937. Excavations at Snaketown, II. Comparisons and Theories (Medallion Papers, No. 26, Globe). Guernsey, S. J. 1931. Explorations in Northeastern Arizona (Papers, Peabody Museum, Harvard University, Vol. 12, No. 1, Cambridge). Guernsey, S. J., and Kidder, A. V. 1921. Basket Maker Caves of Northeastern Arizona (Papers, Peabody Museum, Harvard University, Vol. 8, No. 2, Cambridge). Haury, Emil W. 1934. The Canyon Creek Ruin and the Cliff Dwellings of the Sierra Ancha (Medallion Papers, No. 14, Globe). 1936. Vandal Cave (The Kiva, Vol. 1, No. 6, Tucson). Hough, Walter, 1914. Culture of the Ancient Pueblos of the Upper Gila River Region, New Mexico and Arizona (Bulletin 87, United States National Museum, Washington ). Judd, Neil M. 1924. Two Chaco Canyon Pit Houses (Smithsonian Report for 1922, pp. 399– 413, Washington ). Kidder, A. V. 1924. An Introduction to the Study of Southwestern Archaeology, with a Preliminary Account of the Excavations at Pecos (Papers, Southwestern Expedition, Phillips Academy, Andover, No. 1, New Haven). 1926. A Sandal from Northeastern Arizona (American Anthropologist, Vol. 28, pp. 618– 632). Kidder, A. V., and Guernsey, S. J. 1919. Archaeological Explorations in Northeastern Arizona (Bulletin, Bureau of American Ethnology, No. 65, Washington). Morris, Earl H. 1919a. Preliminary Account of the Antiquities of the Region Between the Mancos and La Plata Rivers in Southwestern Colorado (Annual Report, Bureau of American Ethnology, No. 33, pp. 157– 205, Washington. 1919b. The Aztec Ruin (Anthropological Papers, American Museum of Natural History, Vol. 26, Pt. 1, New York). 1925. Exploring in the Canyon of Death (National Geographic Magazine, Vol. 48, No. 3, pp. 263– 300, Washington). 1928. An Aboriginal Salt Mine at Camp Verde, Arizona (Anthropological Papers, American Museum of Natural History, Vol. 30, Pt. 3, New York). 1936. Archaeological Background of Dates in Early Arizona Chronology (Tree Ring Bulletin, Vol. 2, No. 4, Flagstaff). Morss, Noel H. 1927. Archaeological Explorations in the Middle Chinlee (Memoirs of the American Anthropological Association, No. 34, Menasha). Nusbaum, J. L. 1922. A Basket-Maker Cave in Kane County, Utah; With Notes on the Artifacts by A. V. Kidder and S. J. Guernsey (Indian Notes and Monographs, Museum of the American Indian, Heye Foundation, New York). Pepper, G. H. 1920. Pueblo Bonito (Anthropological Papers, American Museum of Natural History, Vol. 27, New York). Roberts, Frank H. H., Jr. 1929. Recent Archaeological Developments in the Vicinity of El Paso, Texas (Smithsonian Miscellaneous Collections, Vol. 81, No. 7, Washington). 1935. A Survey of Southwestern Archaeology (American Anthropologist, Vol. 37, No. 1, pp. 1– 35, Menasha). Sayles, E. B. 1935. An Archaeological Survey of Texas (Medallion Papers, No. 17, Globe). Zingg, Robert M. 1938. The Southwestern Affiliations of Tarahumara Culture (Southwestern Lore, Vol. 4, No. 1, pp. 6– 9, Gunnison). Citing Literature Volume41, Issue2April‐June 1939Pages 223-244 ReferencesRelatedInformation

For the 1909 Darwin Centennial, the New York Academy of Sciences gave a large bronze bust of Charles Darwin to the American Museum of Natural History. Created by the well-known sculptor, William Couper, the bust was placed on its tall granite pedestal at the entrance at the newly designated exhibition hall, the Charles Darwin Hall of Invertebrate Zoology. Later that year, the American Museum ordered a bronze copy of the bust and presented it to Christ's College, in Cambridge, England at the British Darwinian celebration. In 1935, Victor Von Hagen requested a plaster copy of the bust for a monument he was erecting on San Cristóbal in the Galapagos Islands to celebrate Darwin's arrival in the Galapagos. During 1960, the American Museum of Natural History returned the original bronze bust to the New York Academy of Science, where it is now on display at its headquarters in New York City. To celebrate the Darwin bicentennial, the National Academy of Sciences recreated the bust in a computer-generated copy for display at their Washington, DC headquarters.