The Great Fossil Enigma (37 page)

Now the problems began. Scott's prominence in the announcement had little to do with his own work and nothing to do with his blebs. And he certainly could not stand there as a modern conodont worker. What happened next, then, was extraordinary. Indeed, it is commemorated in a rumor that has probably altered with every retelling: Scott bribed a student (Melton) with a degree in order to gain possession of the fossils, which he then locked away for years, permitting no one to see them. I should say here, however, that Scott's friends, those who knew him best, like Frank Rhodes, never believed the rumor. They knew Scott to be an honorable man who was, like so many others, “dazzled” by the puzzle of the conodont animal.
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The story of the animal, then, became clouded in rumor and suspicion, in untruths and secrets. To those outside the frame, it was easy to imagine something underhanded going on, but Scott left behind a transparent record of his actions that show this was not the case. Thanks to that record, we can unravel what went on and see something of the social underbelly that is found wherever science is performed. We shall see it again in the closing moments of this book, but now we must return to Scott, Melton, and those strange specimens.

Even then Scott may have been considering his own mortality. While we cannot know precisely what was in his mind, he did, indeed, see in Melton's specimens a discovery as enormous as any in the history of paleontology, and he did act to take Melton and his specimens under his wing. Given that many then working on conodonts would know Scott only as a historical figure in their field, these actions immediately turned many American workers against him. They felt a sense of indignation: Scott had taken possession of and then hoarded treasure to which he had no moral or professional right. To the conodont research community, which had been forming cohesive ties since the mid-1950s, Scott the outsider had stolen the equivalent of a religious idol.

From Scott's perspective, however, things looked entirely different. He had, briefly and by chance, been a pioneer in conodont research. His was one of the landmark discoveries that had stood the test of time. He also had recently demonstrated his continuing activity in that field, and he had an
NSF
grant in his hand to prove it. He was the only worker searching for the animal at that time, and his research project had, with the discovery of the animal, now made a giant leap forward. The animal was in every way in his territory and on his research trajectory. It was easy for him to justify his actions. Indeed, he felt he had predicted the discovery.

Beyond the recollections of those then active in the field who now took a clear stance on Scott, a later generation of scientists also had to confront what Scott saw in the new animal. One even wondered if Scott was “mad.” He was not. Scott's correspondence tells us something of what he was thinking and what he wanted others to think. He must be read like any other actor in this story: complex and changing, not entirely selfless or selfish. One can, of course, look through cynical eyes imagining manipulative actions, but his relationship with Melton shows that he was compassionate and supportive, self-assured but also vulnerable. The story of the beast, then, is not simply a tale of the discovery of the conodont animal – as Scott saw it – but is also revealing about the roots of rumor and implausible explanation.

Scott was sixty-three that September in 1969, and after spending most of his career in Urbana, he had just escaped a culture change there that was abhorrent to him. Now he was the new departmental chairman at Michigan State University in East Lansing. His good friend Frank Rhodes was then just up the road at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Unknown to Scott, however, this move meant he had to reapply for the
NSF
grant he already possessed. But this was a fortuitous turn of events because now he could include Melton in the project. Indeed, it seems very likely that Melton joined the project because Scott had the money in hand. Melton's own university was often “on its uppers” and he desperately needed funds for the fieldwork he evidently loved. With Melton on board, and imagining one hundred conodont animals hidden in the quarry, Scott drew up an enlarged bid. He invited Melton to prepare an appendix asking for whatever he wanted: “May I suggest that you include the cost of a rock saw, money for two or three assistants, money for yourself, extensive travel money, and an enlargement figure for publication costs.” Scott was leaving nothing to chance and planned to fly to Washington to present his request in person.

Scott's control of the grant application might suggest that he was also now in control of the project, but he was happy to modify his plans in any way Melton saw fit. Despite Scott's seniority in years and elevated position, it was, from the outset, a collaboration on equal terms, with Scott, the experienced manager, taking on the administrative chores. It was not the kidnapping some imagined. Melton, for example – the “student” of rumor – had been born in the early 1920s. He was a veteran of the Korean War and had as much life experience as Scott. He had been vertebrate fossil preparator at the University of Michigan from 1957 to 1966 and was clearly a man of far greater field expertise than his collaborator.
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Melton was there by choice. Given Scott's interests, historical place, current funding, and present work, it was the logical place to be. For his part, Scott was generous and caring. He also liked to act as wise council. As a result they soon developed a good, friendly working relationship.

But not long after the convention, Melton began to receive mail highly critical of Scott. These were not correspondents Melton knew – and they knew nothing of him, his plentiful scientific connections, or his background in science. Bewildered, Melton sent copies of the letters to Scott, who was at a loss to explain them. In a reversal of their ages, Scott now used Rhodes, the rising university administrator, as a wise uncle, asking him for advice: “I can tell you that they do not seem to recognize that you and I have ever studied conodont assemblages.” Scott considered contacting John Huddle at the National Museum in Washington, as he at least would remember Scott's earlier work and might support his actions. But then he learned that Huddle was one of Melton's correspondents. Scott felt isolated. In his defense, Scott told Rhodes that the impoverished Melton, with dependents in tow, was an active participant in their project and worthy of Scott's patronage: “Mr Melton had an unfortunate experience when he was preparing for a Masters degree. He left school with most of his work completed but was denied the M. S. degree. Sometime after that, he was in the Korean War and suffered a skull wound which affected his speech but not his thinking. Therefore, he speaks slowly but thinks quickly.” It is possible that the promise of the degree was already a subject of rumor, and indeed, Scott was already investigating a transfer of credits from the University of Michigan, where Melton had studied, to Scott's university in the hope of giving Melton his degree. Scott laid it on a little thick in order to convince Rhodes of the legitimacy of his actions. Perhaps he felt a sense of unease. Perhaps he knew he was punching below the belt and had been caught out. Perhaps he believed the magnitude of Melton's discoveries warranted these actions. Maybe it was Melton who had actively sought the degree. It did take Scott's full professorial weight to force the matter, but we cannot really know his motives in full.

Around this time, the
Pander Society Letter
– a roughly typed and Xeroxed annual newsletter and who's who of conodont research – arrived in Scott's hands. It included a hurried report on the convention, which admitted to the sensation of Melton's discovery but made no mention of Scott or his speech. Its editor, John Huddle, concluded, “The specimens were examined by most of the conodont specialists at the convention. Many were not convinced that the conodont-bearing animal had been found and thought that the animal ate the conodont-bearing animal.”
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In October 1969, this was not a political statement, but a year later, when the animal had been studied and presented to the world, it would be. At this moment, then, it did not disturb Scott.

Scott suggested to Melton that the site of the discovery remain secret, at least for the moment, to prevent “people interfering.” That interference was as likely to come from trophy-hunting collectors as from scientists. As a field man, Melton entirely understood, and it was natural for Scott to fear that the project might be wrecked or the opportunity stolen. They would come to realize, however, that the threat lay closer to home: in the quarry itself.

Although the site was to remain hidden, the discovery itself needed publicity. In mid-October Scott sent a short note to the editor of
Science:
“This is an exciting moment in the history of paleontology, and a preliminary examination of the animal indicates that it holds unusual interest to all biologists because of its unique characteristics. We are not in a position to say at this time what this animal really represents; but I can tell you that, if my suspicions turn out to be true, it may well hold a very unique position in the evolution of life.” The mythology of the conodont, which always fed anticipation and never seemed to result in resolution, was still being written. This, it seemed, was the final chapter, and for a biological sensation of this enormity it was a fitting conclusion. In Scott's mind the discovered animal was everything for which he had hoped. It could not be easily understood. It looked entirely new.

Perhaps strangely, and certainly intentionally, the note was not authored by both men but by Scott alone. Its authorship permitted Scott to observe Melton's triumphal discovery, for which Melton was given full credit. But it also allowed Scott to exercise his authority and legitimize his participation by relating the discovery to his existing research. To this Scott added a small note purportedly authored by Melton on their plans for the future. As these were plans concocted by Scott, it seems that Melton's authorship was a political move to demonstrate that Melton was acting under his own free will and had not been kidnapped. That Scott felt the need to publish two notes rather than one is in itself interesting and reinforces the sense that a political message was being communicated to his critics. It is certain that Melton was involved.

In late October 1969, Melton arrived in East Lansing, all expenses paid by Scott's department, to spend two weeks getting to grips with the conodont animal. As they did so, an artist prepared sketches of the specimens. At some point over the coming months, Scott produced a formal proposal that divided up the work of producing the paper: Each would deal with parts of the zoology of the animal, Melton would also cover the stratigraphy and wider fauna and help Scott with the ecology, Scott would deal with the taxonomy and chemistry, and Melton would handle the comparative anatomy. Initial progress was rapid. They discerned the animal's distinctive three-part form, its mouth and anus, a fin, and a dorsal nerve cord, and thus its orientation. They found the “conodonts” making up Scott's
Lochriea
assemblage in the gut of the animal. Scott imagined that it was an unspecialized ancestor of the fishes, a chordate but not quite a vertebrate.

With his blebs paper having just been published, and perhaps confusing readers of
Science
who thought it announced the animal discovery, he told
Geotimes
to tell the world the animal had been found. Again he related the discovery to his earlier work, making it a natural culmination. Now the only five specimens of the animal in the world sat in his office, the ultimate proof of all he had previously said. He told his growing number of correspondents this but added, “The animal is headless, and the teeth are part of the digestive tract rather than part of a ‘head.'” These correspondents might well have thought this a significant change on Scott's earlier views: He had seen his blebs as the remains of the head. They might also have wondered what a strange form of life Scott possessed – headless with teeth in the gut! Rhodes asked Scott to tell all at a
GSA
meeting he was organizing for East Lansing for May 1970. Scott agreed to do so, believing the paper would be in press by then.

Scott willingly sanctioned limited publicity, always keeping enough secret to prevent someone usurping the discovery by naming the animal or identifying its affinity. That would pull the rug from beneath their feet. He worried increasingly about this and eventually wrote to Richardson, who possessed the only illustration of the fossil, made during the North American Paleontological Convention, asking him not to publish it. Richardson was then preparing an announcement in
Earth Science
, but Scott told him that “prepublication” of the image “might give someone, especially foreigners, an opportunity to use some name to designate this animal.” Scott dressed this up a little, telling him the form classification used by “most workers (other than Scott)…has often reached stages of absurdity.” The “other than” here disguised the fact that Scott had not needed to use it as he had not been publishing on conodonts! Richardson respected Scott's wishes.
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