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HERE AT THE ACADEMY

The Move: Part II

Suzanne Ubick

Delicate model ships, carved from walrus ivory by ative Alaskans about 150 years ago, were nestled in foam blocks and tied down carefully for their journey across San Francisco.

Courtesy California Academy of Sciences.

Looking at the new Howard Street facility bustling with visitors this last summer, one might be forgiven for not realizing that the California Academy of Sciences had not yet finished moving from Golden Gate Park. In fact, the whole operation took the better part of a year and only finished this September.

By far the major component of a major natural history museum is its research department, along with its intrinsic specimen collections. Both in their bulk and visibility, they bear the same relation to the museum's exhibits as does the body of an iceberg to its tip.

The Academy is one of the largest and best-respected research institutes in the world. It is probably the only museum housing a collection of every single spider family in the world, and its embiid-web spinner-collection is second to none. Over his lifetime, entomologist Edward Ross has collected more than 350,000 specimens, including at least 1,000 species yet to be described. The closest contender is the British Museum, with fewer than one percent of this number.

The Academy's collections total 18 million real things-Native American artifacts, tortoise carapaces, diatoms, dracula ants, hummingbirds, stingrays, and many plants and animals collected decades ago before they became endangered. And all of this material had to be moved four miles across town.

The sheer bulk of all this stuff is astounding. A typical day in the entomology department would see the transfer of 1,000 drawers, each containing 100 to 2,000 specimens. Giant stick insects and large dragonflies were swaddled in cotton-wool for the trip while cradles made with pins and lined with cotton supported their long abdomens.

Other items needed special handling due to their large size or fragility.

The Anthropology department's 15-foot Eskimo kayaks-too long to fit in the elevator-were maneuvered between floors down concrete rapids, portaged in the traditional way. Two model whaling ships, carved from walrus ivory in the late 1800s, were hand-carried--nestled in the lap of the department's collections manager, Russ Hartman. These miniature beauties are less than a foot long and fashioned in exquisite detail. Holding the bellied sails is rigging made of baleen threads. Whale boats and life boats dangle from davits. Even the rigging blocks are in place, carved meticulously to scale.

Although the word "library" suggests books, the Academy's library houses not only some 200,000 volumes, but also the Special Collections: archives of photographs, paintings, field notebooks and memorabilia associated with the Academy's history.

While preparing for the move, archivist Karren Elsbernd had to delve into the darkest corners and deepest shelves-and each item disinterred had to be evaluated. One of the treasures returned to the light of day is a 1943 version of This Is Ann (after the malaria-carrying mosquito's genus name, Anopheles), a United States Army Orientation course on avoiding malaria. It is richly illustrated by Theodor Seuss Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss. Too old for the draft, Geisel volunteered and became a decorated member of Frank Capra's Signals Corps.

In another corner was a mysterious, tightly-wrapped, fragile-looking paper roll. With great care, the library staff steamed it open with the office kettle. When it was unrolled, the twelve-foot long photograph revealed a gelatin silver panorama of the construction of the Panama Canal taken in 1914. Yet another cubby yielded a 1904 Star and Planet Finder, made by the Barrit-Serviss Company. This unusual planisphere is three-dimensional, giving a very realistic view of the heavens.

However, perhaps the most valuable of the new finds is a portrait of Abraham Lincoln signed by the great man himself. There has been a persistent rumor within the Academy that this autograph existed, but it was acquired before there was an archivist and nobody knew where to find it. The portrait is an engraving, glued on stretched linen canvas, made by J.C. Buttre. It shows a full length image of the President posed with a table and chair, resting his hand on a document entitled "Constitutional Freedom." The note on the back reads: "Portrait of A. Lincoln presented to Senator Jones of Novato by Mrs. Bucknall the first child born in San Francisco, a daughter of Banker Tully."

With only half the total square footage downtown than in the Academy's buildings in Golden Gate Park, and much of the new quarters dedicated to research and collections, the Exhibits department has shifted to think in terms of cubic footage. The coral reef tank is now a slender column spanning two floors. Tall banners present images and legends.

Ironically, the intimate quarters at 875 Howard Street, with their small, temporary displays, will lead to more of the Academy's treasures going on display than ever before.


Suzanne Ubick is Assistant Editor of California Wild.