Brown Derby
Hats off to the man who didn’t coin the term “dinosaur”
By Sarah von Neaden
LONDON • 1842 — Thomas Pavershandy was late and winded. He’d run the six blocks from his office in Holborn to The Sceptre and Hippo where his fellow members of the British Osteological Society met each month. By the time Pavershandy ordered a pint of ale from the bar and made his way back to the group’s regular table, the conversation had already grown animated.
The topic, as always, was fossil reptiles, many of which had been discovered by the Society members sitting around the table. William Buckland, at nearly 60 the group’s natural leader, was attempting to gain control of the debate, which had devolved into name-calling, largely between Richard Owen and Charles Darwin.
“Dick, why must you continue to call Charlie a hornswoggler?” Buckland asked.
Owen was the savant of the group. At 38 he’d been publishing scientific papers about geology and lecturing around Europe for 25 years. Queen Victoria had recently hired him to begin her firstborn’s science lessons—at age two. Owen was also generally grumpy and insanely jealous of the attention British society paid to Darwin.
“I don’t even know why Darwin is here,” Owen pouted. “He’s not a member of this society, he has no interest in ancient fossils, and I’m sure he’d rather be off on one of his Beagle adventures somewhere horrid.”
“Dickie, you seem to have some ale froth caught in your big-man whiskers,” Darwin said, smiling. “And perhaps even an inkling of an original thought caught in your bantam-sized cerebrum.”
Brown Derby
2 ounces of bourbon
1 ounce of grapefruit juice
½ ounce of honey syrup*
Shake with ice • Strain into a cocktail glass
*Whisk one part water to three parts honey
“Enough,” Buckland said. “And please sit down, Thomas.”
Pavershandy, who had been standing next to the table, cradling his pint, hung his frock coat and top hat on a nearby hook and took a seat next to Mary Ann Mantell. Mantell had discovered (and named) the Iguanodon fossil in 1822, and the Hylaeosaurus in 1832 — both in Sussex. On her other side sat Charles Lyell, a geologist and lawyer. Lyell, like Mantell, was in his mid-40s and was a great friend of the 33-year-old Darwin. In fact, the naturalist’s presence at The Sceptre and Hippo was the result of Lyell’s invitation.
In truth, Pavershandy had no idea why Buckland had asked him to become a member of the Osteological Society. He’d been friends at Cambridge with Buckland’s son Phillip, but he knew nothing about geology or fossils. He was an entrepreneur whose latest invention—the fugle—was a combination fork and bugle.
He’d failed, during the first four of the Society’s meetings he’d attended, to work up the nerve to confess his complete lack of expertise, or even interest in, their field. By now it just seemed too late to say anything.
“Barman, please bring us some hedgehog loin and wild parrot thighs,” yelled Buckland, who had discovered (and named) the Megalosaurus in an Oxfordshire slate quarry in 1824. For years his goal had been to eat his way through the entire animal kingdom by devouring each species, which Darwin, of course, found fascinating. “And add some of the marmot gravy I brought the chef.”
“All set,” Lyell said when the bartender looked his way for an order..
“Yes, no hedgehog for me,” said Mantell.
Darwin produced two large pink fruits from his satchel and set them on the table.
“Enormous,” said Mantell. “What are they?”
“The Uruguayans call it the ‘forbidden fruit,’” Darwin said, handing one to Lyell. “I brought some aboard the Beagle when we were in Montevideo a number of years ago and planted the seeds in my greenhouse. Barman, will you squeeze these and fix us something with the juice?”
As the bartender walked away, Buckland addressed the table. Darwin was picking eel-stuffed olives from a bowl on the table and throwing them at Owen’s face.
“As you all know, the agenda this evening is of great consequence,” Buckland said. “Tonight we will decide on an umbrella name for the fossil animals we study. I hope everyone has brought their best suggestions.
Pavershandy turned white. “Dr. Buckland, I was not aware…”
“Why don’t I start?” Buckland said. “As you know, I have a theory that all these enormous fossil animals are avian in some important way we don’t yet understand. As agreed, we’ll use Greek roots for our naming conventions.”
Pavershandy swallowed in a way that was both impressive and alarming. He hadn’t kept up his Greek since his primary school days.
“My offering for a name to encompass all these creatures is Megalopolí or ‘great bird,’” Buckland said.
“Interesting, Dr. Buckland,” said Lyell. “I too came up with a name that emphasized the creatures’ size. Mine may be more traditional in terms of the reptilian features of these animals’ bones. I propose Krokoterastios or “enormous crocodile.”
“I’ll go next,” said Mantell. “Since we’ve uncovered so many tooth fossils, what about Thanatodon or ‘teeth of death?’”
“Very dramatic, Mary!” Buckland said.
Pavershandy began looking around the room for help he knew he wouldn’t find. He briefly thought about making a run for it, and just hoping he never saw any of these people again. The bartender returned to the table with the next round of drinks.
“Gentleman and lady,” he said. “A glass of whiskey that also contains the juice of Mr. Darwin’s forbidden fruit along with some honey. Please enjoy.”
The group toasted, clinking their glasses together and chanting the motto of the British Osteological Society: Ave lacerta patres nostri (Hail our lizard fathers).
“That is delicious!” Lyell said.
“Quite good!” said Martell. “Barman, have you a name for this concoction?”
“I just made it up moments ago, Madam. Since your table seems to be naming things, why don’t you all decide?”
“Perhaps we will,” Buckland said, eager to stay on track. “For now, back to business. Mr. Darwin, as Mr. Lyell’s guest we’re happy to hear your offering, though because you’re not a Society member we can’t officially consider it.”
“Oh, gosh,” Darwin said. “This is a fun surprise. I don’t know. What about combining deinós and saúra into Dinosaur, or ‘formidable lizard’”?
“Oooh, I like how that sounds,” Buckland said.
“As do I,” said Owen. “It’s my turn and as an actual member of this society I will officially offer Dinosaur.”
Darwin leaned over and began tickling him. “Leave me be, Darwin!” Owen said through giggles.
Buckland turned to Pavershandy. “Thomas, your…Where has Thomas gone?”
“He’s under the table,” said Martell.
“Thomas, stop being silly,” Buckland said. “Between Owen and Darwin there’s already been too much of that already. Get up here and offer your name for the fossil beasts.”
As Pavershandy, sweating, climbed back into his seat, his eyes locked on Darwin’s derby hanging next to his own on the rack. He remembered the Greek word for hat and blurted out “Skurokapelosaur!”
Within seconds the table itself was rocking as the Society members and guests, laughing harder than they had at any meeting yet, pounded it with their palms.
“Oh my God I’m crying!” yelled Lyell.
“Seriously, make it stop,” said Owen, holding his gut as if in serious pain.
Martell and Darwin were hugging and wiping away each others’ tears.
“Enough,” Buckland said. “Let’s go with Dinosaur…instead of Brown Hat Lizard.”
Another round of uncontrolled laughter.
“But Barman,” he said. “I believe we have a name for your new drink.”
Editor’s Note: Fact-based cocktail historians claim the Brown Derby may have been created at a bar of the same name in Hollywood in 1933
SOURCES:
Channing L. Rance, From the Fugle to MREs: Culinary Inventions That Changed Warfare (Cheyenne: Old Faithful Books, 1976), p.934
Charles Darwin, Early sketch drafts of On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. 1844. Charles R. Darwin Collection. BNP.1844.072, Box 98, Folder 6 (Sceptre and Hippo chronicles). Morons and Jerks Archives, Richard Owens University, London.
Contributors Notes:
Sarah von Neaden, of the famous Skyler Chronicles Poets, is 88 and specializes in beading and poetry. She has earned a Po.R.P. and has taught by invitation at 11 universities and 28 writing labs. She is presently building a fiction workshop in Bisbee, Arizona with lumber donated by Bisbee High School writing students. She is also writing four books: “Snails in the Copper Pot” (fiction), “What Do You Think Of My Toenail Polish?” (poems), “Rabbit Hole Roundhouse: Quantum Mechanics and Superstring Theory in the Post Cohen-Tannoudji Age” (2-vol. set) and “Skin Feels Freda,” a memoir of her days siphoning gasoline from rental cars at the Avis off S. Garfield Ave. in Orange County.
Next week: Gold Rush • Tailgating, prog rock-loving stoners create a bourbon classic
Delicious! Charming story. Wish I had a grapefruit!