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sprawled through oak woodland and chaparral in Strawberry Canyon and looking out
over San Francisco Bay. Mountain lions and golden eagles still patrolled its fringes, as
they had in Henry's grad school days, thanks to the extensive system of East Bay Re-
gional Parks. Botanical Garden signage warned of rattlesnakes, and one of my first offi-
cial tasks, after being summoned by campus police, was capturing one on the rock wall
of a childcare center by the football stadium. Shortly thereafter, I witnessed a poignant
nod to history in the canyon's redwood grove: as family and friends memorialized Carl
Koford, pioneer condor biologist and among Grinnell's last Ph.D. students, a circling
red-tailed hawk graced us with its descending scream, as if nature's bugler were play-
ing “Taps.”
Although Berkeley proved as magical as Henry remembered, the intellectual scene
was as daunting as it was exhilarating. The search committee had perceived me as
most enthusiastic among the interviewees about teaching natural history, and mine was
the only application that emphasized a commitment to conservation, strengths of Bob
Stebbins's that they believed worthy of continued emphasis. Fair enough, I thought, but
the zoology department, wherein M.V.Z. curators held professorial appointments and
were judged for promotion, brimmed with giants. During faculty meetings I'd likely as
not sit between endocrinologist Howard Bern, an award-winning teacher and member
of the National Academy of Sciences, and embryologist Richard Eakin, featured in Life
magazine for lecturing in costume as Darwin, Mendel, and other famous figures.4 4 On
the junior end of the ranks, ecologist Wayne Sousa arrived the year before me, so prom-
ising that he was hired fresh out of grad school, and Mimi Koehl, already a rising star in
biomechanics, came a year later.
Four professors became dear friends and helped balance the demands of my new
job. Marvalee Wake studies caecilians, once-obscure amphibians that thanks to her now
show up in the most prestigious scientific journals. She also advocates quality teaching
as well as broader service, and was a superbly fair, effective departmental chair. David
Wake, whose creatures of choice are salamanders, owns the most profound feel for the
development, internal workings, and evolution of organisms I've ever encountered. As
M.V.Z. director he was also my boss, and we had common goals as well as amiable dis-
agreements that still challenge me. Mammalogy curator Jim Patton's passion is rodent
evolution, and he always led our team-taught natural history class up the steepest hills,
followed by panting students and staff. Over the years Jim looked more and more like
Grinnell, whereas I resembled a younger Patton—and thus Grinnell—a few years behind
them both in hair loss and beard style. Rob Colwell, who studied nectar-eating mites
that travel among flowers in hummingbirds' nostrils, nurtured my community ecology
interests and was always ready with wise advice when I most needed it. Each in their
own ways, Marvalee, David, Jim, and Rob were my most important professional role
models.
I launched my biennial spring herpetology course in that heady atmosphere, closing
in on a teenage dream and confident of succeeding at least as an instructor. We'd use
conventional lecture, lab, and field formats, teaching facts and theories as well as im-
mersing students in discovery. I jazzed up lectures with topics not in our text or that
cried out for research, striving to portray a dynamic science. Marvalee volunteered her
stunning slides of caecilian eyes, hidden under skull bones, and of the glands with which
those burrowing creatures feed developing young on fatty “uterine milk.” David taught
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