The Site. Robert W. Nero

to further my university studies, travelling back to Milwaukee often to see Ruth, who also lacking parents, had moved in with my foster folks. The Madison campus provided me an opportunity to become acquainted with students and professors from whom I gained increasing confidence. During those Madison years, I spent a surprising amount of time fishing and hunting, but still there was time to look for arrowheads. I was finding my way. My interest in archaeology and my association with friends majoring in this subject led me to become a charter member of the Madison Chapter of the Wisconsin Archeological Society. Incidentally, The Wisconsin Archeologist is the “oldest continually published archaeological journal in North America.” But when I enrolled in graduate studies, I had to choose between my two major interests: birds and arrowheads—zoology or anthropology. In October 1947, I wrote to Ruth as follows: “I have just about decided against archaeology as a profession in favor of work in biology. Birds and mammals—related fields of some kind, maybe game management. Certainly room in those fields—more so than archaeology.” I was drawn to the students, and professors, I’d met in the zoology and wildlife management fields; they usually hunted, wore field clothing, and had an outdoor look—just my style. Anthropology types, so I imprudently judged, were more likely to wear coats and ties, even ">cuff links. To me they seemed to be intellectuals. Working at a site at Horicon Marsh one spring along with several other archaeology students, I hastily called attention to four pintail ducks flying low towards us in a courtship chase. But no one else in the group seemed to share my excitement. For that, and other reasons, I chose to major in zoology, with a minor in wildlife management, studying the behaviour of the red-winged blackbird for six years under the guidance of Professor John T. Emlen Jr., for both a Master’s and a Ph.D degree. In 1984, the Smithsonian Institution Press published a popular account by me of those research years; Redwings has long been out of print. Off in Africa studying mountain gorillas, “Doc” Emlen still found time to critically review my draft Ph.D. thesis. After he returned we met to discuss my research, as well as my family, and then he surprised me by holding up a stone artifact for my inspection, wondering if I knew what it was. “Chopping-tool, from the Olduvai gorge?” I ventured, whereupon he beamed, for I had correctly identified the ancient artifact as well as the African place of origin, recognizing it by its shape and colour. Of course, I knew too that he’d just come back from that region.

      For some time I considered specializing in the identification of animal remains from archaeological sites: teeth, bones, antler, fish scales, mollusk shells…as well as items made out of animal parts. An experienced zoologist can contribute a lot of information to archaeology, such as the species being taken for food, butchering techniques, seasonal occurrence and so on, and it’s a unique way of bringing the fields of archaeology and zoology together. Since, thanks to Dr. Emlen, I was working part-time for the Zoology Department’s Museum, collecting and preparing bird and mammal skins for scientific specimens, this seemed a logical direction to take. I prepared many hundreds of specimens and did some reading in this combined area of expertise, but I was just too busy studying bird behaviour, and doing the necessary course work required to complete my scheduled schooling, to undertake study in this new field.

      Proof of my diligence in collecting zoological specimens lies in what had happened during our honeymoon in June 1948. My bride and I had ridden our balloon-tire bicycles about thirty miles to my folks’ lake cottage. For a week we looked for arrowheads, fished, and, especially, set traps for small mammals, just as I had told Dr. Emlen I planned to do. We obtained a large number of eastern chipmunks which Ruth helped me prepare as study skins. Later, when I met Dr. Emlen at his office door, he congratulated me on our marriage, then wryly guessed that I hadn’t after all, brought back any specimens from our honeymoon. He seemed disappointed when I showed him all those neatly labelled chipmunks!

      I soon discovered that I was not alone in being interested in both zoology and archaeology. Dr. A. W. Schorger, a retired research chemist, was an experienced naturalist. Schorger produced extensive studies on the history of the passenger pigeon and the wild turkey in Wisconsin, and published articles on many other subjects. He eventually accepted a position as a professor in the University of Wisconsin Wildlife Management Department, donating his salary to the Department library. This kind man seemed to appreciate my varied interests and we often talked. I well recall how one day, upon learning that Ruth had just given birth to our third child, Dr. Schorger generously gave me a twenty dollar bill! Aware of my interest in archaeology, on another day he invited me to his house and, to my astonishment, presented me with twenty back volumes, 1923-43, of The Wisconsin Archeologist.

A PERSON TO REMEMBER

      At Madison, I met several more archaeologists who supported my interest. One was Susan W. Miles, Curator of Anthropology at the Wisconsin State Historical Museum, who was working on a significant paper analyzing Old Copper Culture. Old Copper Culture, which dates back thousands of years, is characterized by an incredibly diverse use of hammered copper for tools and ornaments. The copper has been shown to come from veins found in rock outcrops around Lake Superior. (Several Old Copper implements have been found at sites in Manitoba.) A charming lady who took a strong interest in our family, Sue let me look through the archaeological collections at the Historical Museum. When I found some small worked flakes in a box of flint debris from a site, I was jubilant. These were much like the tiny chipped flakes I had earlier shown to Mr. McKern back in Milwaukee. Sue encouraged me to prepare a paper, a formal description of these little implements. It was exhilarating. In a small way I was being an archaeologist.

      I made drawings of artifacts to illustrate that publication and one other, studiously rendering each piece, first in pencil then with pen and ink to show the form, size and knapping process. I’m reminded that I spent many pleasant hours at this task, immersing myself completely. A way of escaping from the realities of graduate school, it gave importance to my life, made me feel involved in science. Among our collection of miscellaneous family photos, there is a picture of me hunched over a desk, cap on my head, lamp beside my elbow, striving to capture the shape of yet one more artifact.

      In 1951 or so, Sue Miles went off to work on her Ph.D. at Harvard University. While there studying at the Peabody Museum, she was shown some small stone tools unearthed at a prehistoric Poverty Point site in Louisiana by archaeologist Phillip Phillips. Recalling my interest in small flake tools, Sue sent me a sample of Dr. Phillips’ artifacts to see if I’d encountered anything like them in Wisconsin. After examining them with considerable interest, I returned them with some appropriate comments. In her May 1952 reply to my notes, Sue wrote that Dr. Phillips was “…delighted with your analytic description of the tools and asked…permission to copy it for further research purposes.” Further, according to Sue, after reading my little report on his artifacts he told her: “That man is an archaeologist or ought to be. The school that missed snapping him up must have been completely blind.” Flattering, yes, but at the same time adding to my distress, for I was still uncertain about my academic direction, though fairly well committed to finishing school as a zoologist.