The invitation goes out . . .

 And you can read about it here . . .

https://thedanglingprussian.blogspot.com/2026/11/the-dangling-prussian-pub-night-2027-or.html

A Regular Sherlockian Night in Indianapolis

 Sherlockian travels can take all sorts of forms. The big weekends, the special events, and even just going to see what regular Sherlockian life is like in a given city. As my wife and I were looking for somewhere to go for the weekend for a quiet celebration of something I won't ballyhoo here, and the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis were having a meeting a few hours down the road, we chose Indy as our destination of choice, and had dinner with the Clients Saturday night.

The Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis like their dinner meetings, something like eight times a year. In my various visits to that city, I've gotten to see the insides of at least five different country clubs, as those tend to be their venue of choice lately (though I do remember one fabulous Greek restaurant years in the past, and a German one as well). Saturday's meeting had about forty people show up at the Country Club of Indianapolis, a fine venue with a lovely large bar in the banquet room.

The story for the night was "The Adventure of the Naval Treaty," and each table had a covered dish in the center, which we were eventually told to uncover to discover our own naval treaty as disguised in the story, all written in French, just like in the story. The difference, however, was that our treaty was not about naval defense but about what order we'd get to go to the dinner buffet in. Our table got "cinq" which was basically French for "last," in this case. No worries there, though, as we had an excellent table company with the Aults from Valparaiso, and Kelly Hodges from Kokomo. (The Indiana Kokomo, not the Beach Boys one.)

One thing you notice immediately about the Illustrious Clients en masse is their club tie, worn as a normal necktie with a jacket by some, but creatively redesigned for a less masculine piece of apparel by others. The Clients fly their colours, and it's quite a thing to see. As I said, they like a banquet meeting, and their normal banquet meetings look like the annual dinner banquet from the heyday of Peoria's Hansoms of John Clayton, so their "normal" is a nice evening for myself and the good Carter.

While we ate, they had their toasts -- based on the story of the evening, which was nice -- and we rolled through toasts to Percy Phelps by Alan Schweitzer, Annie Harrison by Ann Lewis, Dr. Watson by Shelly Gage, Mrs. Hudson by Regina Stinson (via Zoom) annnnd Joseph Harrison by Steve Doyle. If you thought that last one sounds like a dangerous combination, you would be right, as Steve came up with a clever defense of Percy Phelps's brother-in-law that haunted later discussions that evening.

The Clients have an interesting show and tell segment, which other scions have borrowed to some success, in which unique items of Sherlockian interest get explained and shown. I'd try to explain them here but probably fail to do them justice. Sherlock Holmes has inspired such an incredible variety of artifacts that it boggles the imagination sometimes.

A quiz on "Naval Treaty" had been put on the tables early on, and quizmistress Kira Settingsgaard provided the answers. Out of twenty-four possible point, I got fourteen, but a good share of the Clients seemed better prepared and did much better. The quiz was followed by a story discussion led by Mark Walters, going through several key points of the tale, and trying to discourage negative comments about Percy Phelps, the client and victim of the tale, which might have been inspired by a certain Joseph Harrison toast earlier. Personally, I came away from the evening with much less respect for Percy Phelps than I had begun with.

I mean, think about it, this guy was entrusted with a highly, highly, HIGHLY secret government treaty, loses it, then after a curiously convenient bout of "brain fever," thinks, "Oh, I'll write a boy I knew at school who is publishing stories in The Strand Magazine to get his famous friend to find the TOP SECRET document."  Sure, Percy. Sure.

The evening closed with Kelly Hodges, a newly minted Client and recent Irene Adler on the Kokomo stage, reading Vincent Starrett's poem 221B, which is the classic way to finish any Sherlockian evening. 

All in all, the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis do a well organized, very nice meeting, and have for quite a long time. You don't have to wait for a special event to have a nice evening there. But as bad evenings, afternoons, mornings, or what have you are rare amongst all of the Sherlockian societies I've ever visited, so I'd encourage looking for convenient opportunities down the road from wherever you are. Eventually you have to drive home, but you'll get a lot to think about on the way and probably come away inspired for future Sherlockian adventures.

Is Yours A Library or Lumber-Room?

 “I say now, as I said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it."

-- Sherlock Holmes, "The Adventure of the Five Orange Pips"

Last week, I saw a comment on a social post, from one Sherlockian to another, suggesting that books should be shared and not hoarded. "Hoarded" seemed like a strong word for the collecting impulse that has run through Sherlockians like a virus since our early days, but I understood the point. Eventually one reaches an age when they start to wonder how their books will live on past their owner, which can cause one to wonder "Why DO I have all these books?"

When I was younger, non-Sherlockian, non-reader visitors would often ask, "Have you read all those books?" It seemed like such a silly question. Why would I own books that I hadn't read? Over time, however, as the Sherlockian collecting impulse wore away at me, I started to own a lot of books I hadn't read. Reference books, of course, which aren't meant to be read cover-to-cover. Biographies, which might have been meant to be read cover-to-cover, but often just serve as reference books after the fourth or fifth book on the same man's life. And those alternate copies of the same sixty stories -- old pirate editions, editions with unique illustrations, etc.

Enjoyable new novels of Sherlock Holmes, both pastiches and those featuring Holmes-based characters, remain on the shelves as reminders and tributes to the authors who wrote them. The dull, pedestrian works tend to get re-homed at one Sherlockian event or another. As the decades have passed, a lot of Sherlock Holmes books have left my library when they proved less than memorable, for reasons good OR bad. And at this point, even some quality works have left the shelves as the honest realization comes that I'm never going to refer to the particular subject at the heart of the book in my remaining years. I hate to say which, as I especially don't want to upset fans of a particular actor since my home went particular-actor-free a little while back. But that move also delighted one particular fan of that particular actor in the largess they received as the books left my house.

And that's the point that I think the "hoarding" comment was intended to make. When we're young we dream of shelves and shelves of books filling our house. But as lovely as a home library can be, it can also turn into a graveyard of books that won't see another reader until an estate sale. At some point, setting a few free to find new owners to love them is not a bad thing.

When Sherlock Holmes said that notable thing about brain-attics and lumber-room libraries, he was talking about internally held facts, but it also can apply to our external libraries. A person should keep all the books they are likely to use in the future, whether for reference or rereading. But there are also a good many that can be put away in the hands of other Sherlockians, where they can finally get to them if they want them.

There are personal libraries, organized, curated, loved. And then there are lumber rooms where books are just piled and stored as time goes by and we let it all get away from us. I've had both, so I'm not going to shame anyone for letting the Sherlockiana pile up. It happens. But eventually . . . eventually! . . . it's good to take an objective look at the books one owns and decide where their best home might be. Or not. You do you and enjoy whatever that winds up being.

The Deerstalker Lady

 In 2026, the age of everything everwhere all of the time via the internet, it is truly hard to wrap one's head around the Sherlockian experience of forty years ago in 1886. The level of hunger for things related to Sherlock Holmes, the barren Holmes and Watson landscape we spent our days in, the simple fact that if ANY book that starred Sherlock Holmes crossed your path you bought it . . . it was a very different time.

On the wall behind my computer screen is a little picture that always reminds me of those days, as it's not something that would probably seem a must-have to a 2026 Sherlockian.

It's simply a lady in hunting garb, with a rifle and a deerstalker cap.

In the 1980s, if a character was wearing a deerstalker, be it Snoopy, Garfield, a Cabbage Patch kid, etc., etc., etc., they were plainly imagining they were Sherlock Holmes and collectors grabbed up whatever form they appeared in. This deerstalker lady, however, was definitely not playing Sherlock Holmes carrying a rifle -- a form of weaponry Holmes never picks up in the original Canon. She's plainly just a woman going hunting.

But in the 1980s, a time when the Baker Street Irregulars did not invite women to their annual New York dinner, this image of a woman in a deerstalker felt like it held an added statement, and when I encountered it in the framing store where I had taken a particular item to get framed, it seemed a must-buy.

Will this simple print have any meaning down the line, when my Sherlockian collection eventually gets dispersed to the winds when I am gone? That will be for whoever's hands it falls into to decide -- we each give these objects meaning as we go through our lives. But for now, the deerstalker lady remains on my wall, reminding me of a time long ago when things were very different.

So, you go, deerstalker lady. Hope you bagged whatever you were hunting for.

In Defense of Will Ferrell's Sherlock Holmes

 Catching up on some television I missed this week, with a changing of the guard between seasons finished and seasons started, and found my way back to The Hawk on Netflix, a comedy about a has-been pro golfer intent on making a comeback. It starred Will Ferrell, playing a typical Will Ferrell character, and brought back to mind his Sherlock Holmes from the movie Holmes & Watson.

A typical Will Ferrell character is a prideful idiot, the sort who thinks he's the best at whatever he does, being it golf, basketball, TV anchoring, Eurovision Song Contest, you name it. And did Sherlock Holmes think he was the best at what he did?

Yes, he did. It's Canon. Score one point for Mr. Ferrell.

And somehow, yes, somehow, those prideful idiots succeed by the end of the movie. And did Sherlock Holmes succeed at the end of a case?

Well, mostly.

And a typical Will Ferrell character has enormous weaknesses. Bad habits, poor social graces . . . oh, wait, doesn't Sherlock Holmes have those same traits?

So why is it that a few Sherlockians so disdain a Will Ferrell Sherlock Holmes whilst celebrating Michael Caine's idiot Holmes in Without A Clue? Why do they decry Ferrell as an American miscasting mistake whilst accepting two movies from Robert Downey Jr., who doesn't even hit the Holmes height requirement like Will Ferrell.

Well, I could say some fans might take their fandom a little too seriously to have some fun with Holmes & Watson. Or I could say some folks have that Saturday Night Live issue, where they bonded with one season's cast in their childhood and won't accept the comic stylings of any other. Or, I could just say, well, it's okay if they don't get it, because sometimes, life just takes you on a sub-optimal path. But all of those would be ad hominum arguments, the last resort of the desperate debater that we see so often in the modern political arenas. And Holmes & Watson doesn't need that. It's got John C. Reilly. It's got Kelly Macdonald. Rebecca Hall. Hugh Laurie. Ralph Fiennes. Lauren Lapkus. Steve Coogan. Rob Brydon. And Queen freakin' Victoria, who they say was played by someone called Pam Ferris, but that sure looked like Queen Victoria to me. That's a cast!

The theme song to Netflix's The Hawk is lyrically brief: "They call him the Hawk. He's a golfer. The greatest golfer in the world."

Can you hear an echo of Sherlock Holmes in those words? I can. But maybe that's because I relate to those characters the same way I've always related to Sherlock Holmes. Prideful, socially inept, but somehow sure it's all going to work out in the end. And maybe just self-aware enough to connect to just being an idiot sometimes. And like the much lauded The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, which shares a few things with Holmes & Watson, maybe that's what makes it a favorite of mine.

Your mileage may vary, so enjoy whatever movie you're driving for whatever your favorites are. But Holmes & Watson is not a movie to be so easily dismissed.

Demolishing the Yew Alley

 It's not often that one does Sherlockian yardwork.

But today, after mowing the lawn I decided that a certain corner of the lawn, which had been host to some weeds, needed to be more mower friendly, and generally cleaned up for the next owners to come a few years down the road. Paving stones, border bricks, a pedestal with a sundial, all butting up to a corner of an eight foot wooden fence.

That wooden fence wasn't always there. When we moved into our home, nearly three decades ago, our entire backyard was bordered by a picket fence, meant for keeping little kids and small dogs from running off. It was old and a bit rickety, and when a new neighbor to the north moved in and wanted a more secure metal fence for their dog, we said "Sure, you can replace the fence on your side!" Eventually the same question came from our backyard neighbor for their larger dogs, and a larger fence went in. And finally, the same for our neighbor to the south. "Good fences make good neighbors," as the saying goes.

Yet before all that took place, when we first moved in, a path had been build between our backyard and the house diagonally across from the southwest corner said yard. And that house was owned by my old Sherlockian friend, Bob Burr, who had spent the previous six months of his retired life seeing houses for sale on his morning walks and suggesting we move into his neighborhood. And after several rounds of "No, we want a TWO car garage!" and the like, he did find us one that met all our requirements, catty-cornered to his own property.

I'm not sure who decided their house was Baskerville Hall in the ensuing months, but we got permission from the other neighbors to make a little walk between our yards which we called "the Yew Alley" after the site in The Hound of the Baskervilles. Newsletter columns, proofs of journals, new books picked up for my friend -- all those things and more started using that route for delivery. And since I could look down from an upstairs window to see when Bob was out on his back patio for his evening cocktail, just delivering any news or gossip in person became an easy thing as well via the Yew Alley.

When Bob passed away in 2013, the passage was closed off, yet the landscaping I'd put in that corner remained. The sundial he had so carefully calibrated when I went to put it in. The short path of stones that now went nowhere. And after thirteen years of upkeep worthy of a drunken Hudson of a gardener, the corner slowly became a shadow of its former self, and the time for clean-up had come.

So, raising a glass to the morning's efforts, and that happy past this chore came from, I'm bidding adieu to the last of the Yew Alley today. Glad to have had it while we did.

The 80th Anniversary Dinner of the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis

Let us talk for a moment about the life of the extroverted introvert.

We didn't start as social creatures. And we might never master the social graces of a true extrovert. We learn to summon confidence. We learn to be comfortable doing things like speaking publicly. We can host sometimes, lead sometimes (always comfortable having a little control), and sometimes even appear the extrovert. But inside, well, there still can live that shy, awkward version of ourselves who still remembers all the times we were the puzzle piece that just seemed to be from a different puzzle.

I have to start there, because that was where I started my weekend. But last month, I had decided that I wanted to attend the 80th Anniversary Dinner of the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis. I'd be driving down by myself, sure, but if one was spending the night, one typically meets people at the hotel . . . except this time, I apparently picked the wrong choice of the two. There were no Sherlockians to be seen in any of my trips through the lobby in the two hours before the dinner.

So I dressed, got in the car, set the navigation, and headed to dinner.

One of the final turns came up, and I suddenly found myself at a gate with a guardhouse. Never been to a country club with a guard at the gate. I mentioned the Illustrious Clients and Sherlock Holmes, and he opened the gate without a word, and I drove quite a few blocks through a very nice community, eventually getting to a nice country clubhouse. I saw two people I didn't know dressed very well heading in, and my socially anxiety was just peaking nicely. On another night, having not driven so far, I might have turned tail and spent my evening elsewhere. (It hasn't happened more than twice in decades, but it has happened.)

Inside, there was a sign pointing up a big staircase, so up I went. And there was a crowd filling the floor above the stairs. I stepped off that staircase and the minute my feet hit the second floor, everything changed. 

I got a big hug. Someone brought my name badge. The furthest travelled of the evening's speakers came over to say "hi." One of my favorite distant friends asked if we could sit together. Sherlockians happened.

This is the magic of Sherlock Holmes.

The character tends to attract those of who relate to that fine example of eccentricity in full functional flower, a lonely figure whose great friend Watson is always there. Once we find other Sherlockians and the camaraderie of similar enjoyments -- and often similar anxieties -- we find a home, and more than that, a battery we can plug ourselves into.

As I still didn't have a one hundred percent charge in my social battery at that point, I didn't mingle much during cocktail hour, and have to apologize to anyone I missed saying "hi" to, as I picked a seat in the furthest corner of the room. And I also have to thank everyone that did come by to say hello, and even though I'm not naming a lot of names here, I was especially pleased to get to meet Alex Katz, who came by to pass along his father's greetings. But let's talk about point of this whole essay, the Illustrious Clients of Indianapolis.

Firstly, they set a nice table. After eighty years, one might expect that.

Secondly, their local members are good company, no matter who sits at your table. I used to get down to Indianapolis a lot more often than recent years, and that was always the case. I actually think I got my first bout of Covid from a dinner they had packed into a restaurant down in Bloomington after that pandemic was supposedly done, but I had my shots and it was a mild case, so no regrets! Good company!

(Note: The other side of the table did get filled.)

The Clients have always been lucky with their leadership, and Shelly Gage, the current head of the Clients, is no exception. She gave some opening remarks and started sending tables to the excellent buffet that the country club provided. I want to commend the Clients on letting us get our food before the toasts started. One can never fully enjoy a toast if it feels like it's standing between you and dinner, especially those five minute essays that some events mistake for toasts.

The toasts this time were especially moving, as besides Sherlock Holmes (of course), they toasted key figures in the Clients' history who were no longer with us. I had known most of them, and had many a fond memory to associate with each of them. So many had even been in my house once upon a time, because the Clients tend to get around. 

That was going to be a tough act to follow, but the person who followed it has always been the figurehead of the Illustrious Clients to me, even when he wasn't leading the group. One of my numerous faux pas in my Sherlockian life was presenting some token to the club at a meeting and giving it to Steve Doyle instead of Don Curtis, just because Steve has always been a standout Sherlockian. From his tales of ER videography to serving jugs of Petri wine, Steve tends to be distinctly memorable, and for this occasion he once more proved the point, with a talk that started with the thesis "Indianapolis is the Sherlockian capital of the world."  

In the hands of anyone else, especially in his current role as leader of the freakin' B.S.I., such a premise might come off as sheer pomposity. But it's Steve. He knows the key that Sherlockiana is best played in for a talk, a little fun, a little smart, and just a tad nutty. Of course, Indianapolis is the Sherlockian capital of the world, and now we all get the fun of disproving that thesis in the months and years to come. (Personally, I'm hoping Wisconsin makes a go of it!) I loved his talk.

We got a break for dessert and the auction of a one-of-a-kind poster celebrating the Clients' history, which many of us signed. I found Steve at one point and got him to autograph my copy of Jerry Williamson's horror novel The Tulpa, for reasons you might have seen in my review ot it. Then we got another great talk, the evening's keynote.

Les Klinger was in fine form as keynote, taking us through his personal Sherlockian journey, of science fiction authors and annotateds, of his love of Baring-Gould that so many of us can relate to, his ties to the Clients and how Indiana's Sherlockians helped get him to where he is. (And we got to hear of an updated annotated to come, which is kind of huge!) 

After Les came a recognition of the membership, with that thing where all the members stand and then sit down as the generations of membership go down the years. I will admit that I did take that moment to slip out for a needed restroom break, also somewhat embarrassed in the fact I'd forgotten to pay dues about ten years ago and had let my membership lapse. (Still have the certificate on my wall, though, and I did make sure some dues got paid on my way out.) A split-the-pot drawing, and the traditional reading of 221B, and the evening was over, at which point I headed back to my hotel ten miles away that was bustling with non-Sherlockians.

But here's the thing. I had a wonderful evening, despite being at a very low social ebb. I came away with that deep validation one gets with a good Sherlockian experience, where you know in your very bones that this hobby you've spent so much time and energy on was exactly the hobby that you needed in your life. Thanks to the Clients, thanks to the folks at my table, and apologies to everyone whom I didn't get a moment with or missed completely, as you still added your energy to the evening. 

I will have to get down to Indy again soon. The Sherlockian capital of the world is wherever you are when Sherlockians happen, and this weekend I got to be there.