Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
Scientific productivity brought invitations to review others' work and contribute to
symposia on vertebrate speciation and lizard ecology, as well as praise from peers.
Philip Smith of the Illinois Natural History Survey wrote in
Copeia
that Henry's racer
monograph was “a monument to effort and perseverance as well as productive original
investigation and near-flawless literature research, the result of a fantastic amount of
labor devoted to one species season after season for fourteen consecutive years. It con-
sists, on the one hand, of imaginative probes into almost every facet of the snake's life
cycle and its place in the environment and, on the other hand, of a methodical and
machine-like precision in locating, sifting, digesting, and utilizing scattered bits of in-
guished vertebrate biologist, would remark, “Fitch's long-term studies . . . on reptiles,
are among the most meticulous and data-rich autecologies ever published.”
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Social calamities couldn't be entirely avoided, even on the Reservation. Local farm-
ers gossiped that Henry bred venomous snakes for release, a rumor given false cre-
dence by a grad student's death, probably from lightning. There was also the chronic
threat of a run-in with Dr. Hall, as the Fitches always called him. The crusty museum dir-
ector forbade nonnative animals from the Reserve—no horses, cattle, or pets—so Henry
excluded exotic reptiles from his research and shot trespassing dogs that chased wild-
life. Nonetheless, after their son Chester was born, Virginia successfully lobbied for a
Siamese kitten. One day the Halls showed up, and after a few pleasantries, just as they
were leaving, a loud
meow
came from behind the bathroom door. When Dr. Hall angrily
brought up the no-pets agreement, Henry responded tersely that this animal was sealed
off from the ecosystem. His boss issued an ultimatum: “Your job or the cat!” They gave
it away but later had tame skunks, a great horned owl, a fox squirrel, and a pair of rac-
coons named Mabel and Jake.
Fitch family stories remind me of a band of happy gypsies. Henry was raised in a sup-
portive environment, but he was always so alive in the moment, so unselfconsciously ab-
sorbed in nature, one could wonder how he managed as husband and father—after all,
scientists aren't always exemplary in that regard, and our publications tend to be rife
with apologies to loved ones. On the Reservation, though, with an office in the house and
his lab next door, Henry was always nearby. He taught Alice to read, made toys, played
games with the children, and told stories that have passed down to his grandkids. Vir-
ginia had him drop a set of stories about a naughty little girl lest they unduly influence
their daughter, but the more enduring series, which featured “Old John” roaming the
world for adventures with animals, began as Henry drove from California to Louisiana
with little John beside him on the car seat.
Virginia coauthored papers with her husband, gathered observations of nesting sum-
countless other ways during almost six decades of marriage. Family vacations included
searching for gartersnakes in mosquito-infested Wyoming meadows when the kids were
young, and the summer that Henry took a radioecology course at Oak Ridge they
camped every weekend. Back on the Reservation he gave Chester fifty cents for slender
glass lizards, out of which the boy reimbursed his friends who helped find the reptiles;
when I recalled that Grinnell paid a dollar for gophers, Henry cheerfully pointed out
that the rodents were
prepared as specimens,
not simply caught and brought home.
Lest there be any doubt about his gratitude, though,
AKansasSnakeCommunity,
Fitch's
