[The flurry of activity that went into our event, “Medi-Vaudeville,” delayed the last installment of this talk on Darwinism.  Please do read the earlier parts; it’s all connected.]

If “BC” could introduce the Bible into the caveman cartoon, then, obviously, the next step is to introduce the caveman cartoon into the Bible.

So, busy theologians have been combing their scriptures for evidence that men and dinosaurs co-existed, thus reconciling the Bible, the fossil record, and “Alley Oop.”

To be specific: the Behemoth in Job (chapter 40) is now identified as a brachiosaurus.  The “fiery flying serpent” of Isaiah 30:6 is now a bioluminescent pterosaur.  And Biblical illustrations and dioramas now show the tyrannosaurus lumbering about the Garden of Eden, and Mr. and Mrs. Triceratops lining up for the ark.

According to a rather wonderful talk by John Goertzen, presented at the Midwestern Evangelical Theological Society Conference in 1998, Moses and the Israelites had to fight off pterodactyls as they fled Egypt.  Furthermore, pterodactyls survived on the ark, and only became extinct a few centuries ago.

Of course, Goertzen’s thesis is controversial, since some creationists insist pterodactyls are not extinct.  They call them “ropens,”and are now mounting expeditions to comb remote jungles for them.  And so the most dogmatic fundamentalism winds up yoked to the unorthodox speculations of cryptozoology.  What would Heuvelmans do?

I don’t know if Peter Piltdown will appear in the new 25 million dollar creationist museum in Kentucky, right outside Cincinnati.  I do know that the curator, Kenneth Ham, plans to, in his words, “take back the dinosaurs,” and to correct the poor scholarship of secular natural history museums, that place dinosaurs living millions of years before man, and don’t even address the issue of what the tyrannosaurus ate in the Garden of Eden.  The latest evidence is that he was vegetarian before the Fall.  I don’t know how this jibes with the doctrine equating vegetarianism with Satanism.  Obviously, scientists have work to do.

And now, evolution is simply not taught in many schools.  In some areas, it’s not officially prohibited, but teachers don’t want to take on angry parents by mentioning such a controversial subject.

Our politicians often don’t accept Darwinism — as they sometimes put it, “the jury is still out.”  Or at least that’s what they say.  I don’t think they’re real politicians, any more than Fred Flintstone was a real caveman.  They’re just mascots for the oil companies — like the bright green brontosaurus Sinclair used to post at its gas stations.  They’re here to reassure the faithful that God created them to rule the Earth; and that Jesus will soon fly down on his bioluminescent pterodactyl, riding his ropen, and turn all dead dinosaurs into gasoline, to bring our lumbering gas guzzlers back to life.

In 1989, the Post Office released a set of dinosaur stamps, including a lovely brontosaurus.  When scientists objected that this wasn’t accurate, the Post Office explained that most of their customers weren’t scientists.  As Edwin G. Conklin, a Princeton biology professor, observed at the height of the Scopes Trial, the popular idea, especially in politics, is “that one man’s opinion is as good as another’s on any subject whatever.”

In a democracy, ideas are accepted or rejected not necessarily according to evidence, or to verification, but to popularity.  And in a mercantile society, ideas are judged on profitability.

(Posted by Doug Skinner.  Happy bicentennial, Mr. Darwin…) 

“Old Maid at the County Fair” is an Arrco “Pla-Mor” game.  In this one, our Old Maid meets “all the funny folk at the County Fair.”  Unlike most decks, she (or her cat) is also in each picture.  The Arrco people certainly had some stylish illustrators on board.

And here she is.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)  

One of the grand old men of British forteana, John Michell, died on April 24.  I only met him a few times; he was always kind and gracious.  The last time I saw him, we discussed our common fascination with the number 5040 (Plato’s ideal population for the Republic, among other things).  He was a fine writer and painter, endlessly curious (in both senses of the word), and will be missed by many.  Fare thee well, John Michell.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

About forty fine citizens assembled at Jalopy for our fourth event, eager to see how the Ullage Group would screw up this time.

I performed the ceremonial ullage-uncorking, and poured out a shot of chianti for our host, Geoff Wiley; and invoked the Italian proverb “Chi beve it vino prima la minestra, saluta il medico dalla finestra” (“He who drinks wine before the soup greets his doctor from the window”).  I then introduced our resident medico, Dr. Mamie Caton, who demonstrated the properties of chianti by sipping some.

Mamie and I discussed evidence-based medicine, alternative medicine, and scientific methodology; the audience chimed in with questions.  I’ll post an outline separately.  Read it if you like; there will be no test.

Lisa sang a tasty batch of songs with medical themes, including broadside doctor-mockery (“Infallible Doctor” and “Dr. Jeremy Snob”), a vaudevillian patent medicine jingle (“Good Luck to Beecham’s Pills”), and a lilting waltz touting the camphorated poultice Thermogene.

Anthony concluded with notes, both historical and personal, on the unorthodox light therapy machines of Royal Rife and Dr. Dinshah Ghadiali.  He also demonstrated a vintage Violet Ray Generator, a miniature Tesla coil that delivered heat and electrical shocks to crucial parts of the body.  It’s unwise to operate the Renulife when wearing metal; some of the audience were afraid that Anthony might forget to remove his Ullage Group lapel pin, and fall to the floor, engulfed in flames.  But he remembered.

We have more medical curiosities in our files; perhaps we’ll mount a sequel.  Thanks again to Jalopy, and to our attendees; and stay healthy!

(Posted by Doug Skinner)  

In keeping with the medical theme of our upcoming event, “Medi-Vaudeville,” we offer “The Comical Game of Dr. Quack.”  It’s not, strictly speaking, a game: more of an amusement.  One player reads the rollicking doggerel about Dr. Quack’s wedding to Miss Hen; others draw cards bearing nouns to be inserted in blanks in the story. 

Like the earlier “Peter Coddle,” or the later “Mad Libs,” it’s all about the non sequiturs.  This version is from Russell, probably sometime in the ’30s.  And here’s the doctor in 1960, again from Russell.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

The Ullage Group offers its fourth afternoon of cultural curiosities, “Medi-Vaudeville.”  The title refers to the book that Charles Fort planned to write, during his final days in the hospital; for, this time around, it’s all medical.

Doug Skinner and Dr. Mamie Caton will talk about alternative medicine, evidence-based medicine, and the difficulty of applying scientific methodology to medical procedures.  Lisa Hirschfield will present a selection of medically-themed ditties, ranging from 18th century satirical broadside ballads to 20th century patent medicine jingles.  Anthony Matt will speak about turn of the century non-invasive medical technologies, which claimed to cure everything from hair loss to cancer by projecting various spectrums of light onto an ailing patient.  His talk will explore the medical pursuits of Nikola Tesla, Royal Rife, and Dr. Dinshah Ghadiali.  He will also demonstrate a working vintage violet ray generator.

All of this will take place on Sunday, April 19th, at 5 pm, at Jalopy Theatre, 315 Columbia St., Red Hook, Brooklyn.  We charge a pittance, $5, to cover our expenses.  We would like to point out that you may also hobnob with fellow ullage fanciers, and purchase stimulating beverages; and that the benefit to your overall health and happiness cannot be quantified.  And you don’t need to make an appointment!

For directions to Jalopy, look here. 

(Posted by Doug Skinner)      

The Old Maids return!  We shall have whole brigades of Old Maids!  For our last batch, leaf back to September through December of last year; again, we’ll alternate them with other graphic delights.

This deck, from E. E. Fairchild, pairs delicately rendered storybook scenes, including “Mary Quite Contrary,” “Robinson Crusoe,” “Snow White,” and other perennials.

And here’s the Old Maid.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

Ben Hecht was the first “Fortean”: he coined the word, and staked his claim.  Like the other founders of the first Fortean Society, back in 1931, he had no particular interest in scientific anomalies; he just enjoyed the exuberant and provocative books Charles Fort wove from them.

I plan to paste in snippets from those founders, from time to time: the Society played a lively part in the history of American freethought; its iconoclasm still offers a welcome breath of fresh ullage in the prevailing stink of bovine excretion.  And — most crucially — they were colorful writers, still fun to read.

Here, for example, is a clip from a Hecht piece mocking the American male for its obsession with freakishly large breasts.  It’s a cheery piece, meant “to offer to the genuine female with normal bosom the small assurance that at least one man knows the score.”  But you may find this salvo even cheerier:

This newly hatched American infantilism is not confined to cooing over large bosoms.  It shows itself in the way the new American buys things.  His home has become a play pen full of useless objects, or objects he could do without; and he must keep dithering for more.  It shows itself, also, in in his response to the new barrage of television advertising.  He listens to the commercials with the glassy, pacified eye of infancy.  He dotes on reiteration.  The success of television advertising — the most successful raid on our piggy banks since the Mississippi Bubble — is based on the American’s babyish delight in hearing and seeing unvarying grimaces and sounds repeated over and over. 

I am certain when our inwardly tattooed citizen dreams idly in his warm tub, no poetry or memories of art or even of love and adventure drift through his noggin.  He sees, instead, beer bottles, deodorant bottles, hair-dye bottles, iceboxes, lipsticks, aluminum pots, cake mixers, cigarette packages, polished automobiles — with their chin-chucking slogans echoing around them.  A genuine infant in its warm tub is similarly preoccupied with the wonders of its rubber duck and whatever other material objects are dear to the dawning soul of babyhood.

(Posted by Doug Skinner.  This is taken from Esquire’s World of Humor, 1964.  The date and title of Hecht’s piece have been shaved off for some editorial whim.  Go figure.) 

On a recent bus trip from upstate NY, back to the forlorn isle of Manhattan, a woman somewhere behind me indulged in a long cell phone chat.  For a full, voluble half-hour, she kept her yakmate abreast on where the bus was: every freeway exit, toll booth, and road sign we met on our perilous journey was described in detail.  Even our bus’s triumphal entry into Port Authority was annotated: first her alarm that we were on 40th St., although she had been told that the station was on 42nd; then the enumeration of each gate number that we passed; then a color commentary on a tire change in front of us.  We arrived, by the way, on time at the proper gate; it’s not as if she needed to alert her friend of any delay.  Cell phones are convenient, but I often wish my fellow citizens went without them.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)

We’re up to #53.  If this were a deck of cards, it would be the joker.  Let’s mark the occasion, then, with a splendid joker from a souvenir deck of the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair.  It’s not really a children’s game, but I’m sure the whole family can enjoy this giant gorilla from a million years ago.

And here are a few scattered jokers as well, from unsung designers.

(Posted by Doug Skinner)