Happily Ever After? Well, Maybe, Maybe Not?

 People do enjoy joking about how dull Sherlockian chronology must be. Sooooo boring!

But what nobody realizes is the wild, often scandalous revelations that chronology's second layer brings to the fore. For example, here's a bit from "The Literary Agent's Ten Percent" segment from last week's Watsonian Weekly.

Holmes and Watson's last recorded case from the Baker Street days is "The Creeping Man," which a chronologist can date as starting on Sunday, September 6, 1903. Sometime after that, Sherlock Holmes must have retired to Sussex and left London. In October of 1903, The Strand Magazine publishes "The Adventure of the Empty House," announcing to his fans that Sherlock Holmes is still alive and living at 221B, so he had every reason to get out of town and head for Sussex ASAP. Then, on December 17, 1903, Watson's literary agent goes to see Madame Tussaud's, the big tourist attraction in the neighborhood of 221B Baker Street. 

Now, Conan Doyle knew how popular Holmes was at that point. He probably also knew enough about America to know his fellow writer Mark Twain had seen Tom Sawyer's cave from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer making money as a tourist attraction since 1886. So if the famous Sherlock Holmes's rooms were both vacant and in the neighborhood of another prominent London tourist attraction, might Watson's literary agent have thought of stopping in to see Mrs. Hudson and work out some sort of deal.

Of course, what he should have remembered was that Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft Holmes had previously had a deal for keeping the Baker Street rooms intact and unvisited while Sherlock was not in residence, so there's one reason that wouldn't happen.

But let's look at another example.

Chronology tells us that in late June 1902, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson find themselves in the apartment of Mr. Nathan Garrideb confronting a certain Killer Evans. Watson gets shot in the leg. Holmes gets very worried Watson is hurt -- powers of observation plainly not working well enough to assess the bullet's passing through Watson's leg. Of course he's hurt, Sherlock!

But Watson's internal reaction, "It was worth a wound -- it was worth many wounds -- to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask." This line is purest sugar to those who see Holmes and Watson as lovers, equating it with the moment in a romantic comedy where someone finally professes their love after a long "will they, won't they." It's that moment when someone in the audience is definitely chanting "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" The happy ending.

But, as with all the Canon, it's Watson's perception of the moment, however you want to translate that text's emotions. And a Sherlockian chronologist will want to give you another date to ponder now. Back to "The Adventure of the Creeping Man" in September of 1903, a year later.

"The relations between us in those later days were peculiar . . . His remarks could hardly be said to be made to me -- many of them would have been as appropriately addressed to his bedstead . . . If I irritated him by a certain methodical slowness in my mentality . . . such was my humble role in our alliance."

Yes,  Watson isn't feeling real great about things and he's not living at Baker Street. It that moment in September of 1902 was the happy movie ending some take it to be, that happy didn't last. Watson deserted Holmes for a wife in January of 1903, only six months after he thought he saw how much Holmes loved him. (Again, a date the chronologists would give us from "Blanched Soldier.")

Such a soap opera there to be explored, and all because Sherlockian chronology brings a chain of events to light. Boring, you say? Well, if you just stop at the dates. But if you look at what was going on behind  those dates, whoa, mama! So much more to explore.

If A Million Monkeys Write Sherlock Holmes Stories . . .

 If there is one field of endeavor that I don't worry about AI poking its stupid robot head into, I think it's the world of Sherlock Holmes pastiche.

Well, let me correct that . . . I do worry that someone is going to waste valuable electricity, processing time, server usage, all that stuff to make an AI do something that we already have a cheaper resource creating a constant supply of. 

Remember celebrating the freeing of Sherlock Holmes into the public domain? Remember going "Now ANYONE can write a Sherlock Holmes story!"? What we didn't consider then was that not just anyone, but everyone would decide to write a Sherlock Holmes story.

What's that you say? You haven't written a Sherlock Holmes story yet? Let me ask you a question: Have you retired from whatever you did in the mainstay of life? No? Wait for it. You'll get there.

And everybody gets one. I mean, ya gotta try it.

Show your most brutally honest friend. Get someone to really beat it up. Send it to someone crazy enough to be collecting stories for some new volume called Yet Another Casebook of Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Everybody gets one. 

And, if you're really into it, if you really feel the need and you've survived critiques of your first story, or your friends find your work entertaining, keep going. But here's the thing . . .

Sherlockian fandom is a community that some of us live in. We're not a market for selling late-in-life attempts at authorship by copying existing IP. We are, for the most part, a welcoming community, especially for minor celebrities. But if the first time we see someone, they're trying to sell us a book? And that's the only time we see said person.

And we have plenty of pastiches. We don't need salesmen knocking on our community door trying to sell us another one and then heading down the road to the next fandom house trying to sell that group on their next thing. Sure, some kindly soul is gonna let said salesman in our house, invite them to dinner maybe, but we're not running into the streets and throwing a parade for something we're already swimming in.

Okay, rant over, but while we're on pastiches here's one more thought: Every pastiche is an adaptation, if you think about it. Even if an inhabitant of 2024 tries to match every Victorian thing they can think of, they're still not British Victorians . . . and heck, even British Victorians weren't Conan Doyle. So it's all adaptation of some sort. So why not go whole hog and show us something new? One of the greatest things that BBC Sherlock brought to us, at least to this burnt-out old fan, was the wild experimentation of fanfic putting Holmes and Watson in wildly different roles, environments, and bodies. Wonderful exploration of the characters, and it showed us things we might not have seen about our Baker Street friends.

Think about it.

Okay, post-rant thought over.

The Adaptation Problem

One thing that has delighted me about the fabulous Sherlock & Co. podcast is that one of my totally non-Sherlockian friends is listening to it and loving it. Today he texted me that he'd finished Sherlock & Co.'s "Gloria Scott" adaptation and how intense parts of it were. He then asked if these were based on the original stories . . . and I had to do a "Yes, but . . ."

"The Gloria Scott" is not really a favorite among Sherlock Holmes stories. I would not recommend it to anyone who was not already a fan of Holmes and the better tales. Because it's not really a highlight, sad to say. Yet Sherlock & Co. made it pretty darn fun.

And that presents a new issue with adaptations that I never thought about before.

What if they actually are better than the originals?

As our local library discussion group is fond of noting when they discuss first looks at the tales, they are dated in ways we didn't even think about twenty years ago, and they were dated in ways we did think about then. And its more than the "isms" one encounters. Some of the situations involved are harder and harder for a modern reader to relate to. Very few Sherlockians in 2024 are coming to the fandom directly from the original stories. Sherlock Holmes clicks with them in some other medium and they follow the river of Holmes back to its source. 

In the last century, "not as good as the originals" was a constant refrain. The question "Why can't they just do straight adaptations to the screen, like the Jeremy Brett series?" could be heard again and again.

But did we really want to see a straight adaptation of every one of the sixty stories? Like "The Gloria Scott?" Young Holmes goes on vacation meets his friend's father, leaves, and later comes back just as his friend's father dies of a stroke and reads the story of what was stressing the old guy out. Oh, and he figures out a word puzzle. When Granada did adapt a "young Holmes" story with "Musgrave Ritual," even they added Watson to the mix.

At some point, we actually need adaptations of the Sherlock Holmes stories to be better than the originals, to keep Sherlock Holmes alive in the culture. No one can afford to make productions just for the populace of avowed diehard Sherlockians -- we a literally less than a millionth of the world's total population. If we were a country and went to war with the fans of any NFL team, South Korean boy band, or, bless her heart, Taylor Swift, we'd be snuffed from existence immediately. But all those regular folks who find some version of Sherlock Holmes entertaining enough to watch a TV show, see a movie, or listen to a podcast keep our hero alive for us.

As I said, I am delighted my friend is into Sherlock & Co. We've been friends for over thirty years, and he knows more than enough about Sherlockiana just from knowing me. But he's not jumping into a local scion or coming to Dayton, Minneapolis, or New York. His enjoyment of Robert Downey Jr. or Harry Atwell is enough, reminding me that I'm not entirely crazy for dedicating so much time to this hobby. (Not entirely! Hee hee.)

So bring on the adaptations! Some will rise to the top, and some will sink into the great Grimpen Mire. (Speaking of which, after their adaptation of The Sign of the Four, I am dying to see what Sherlock & Co. does with the best of the novels.) But in the end, they will keep Sherlock Holmes alive, for generation after generation after generation.

The Practically Canonical Tent Joke Prequel

While the classic tent joke premise is non-Canonical, there is a place where a tent joke actually does fit in. Before Sherlock Holmes, there was Watson's other friend . . .

Dr. Watson and Murray the orderly went camping, somewhere between Mumbai (then Bombay) and Kandahar. 

"Why do they call this a 'dome' when the canvas is draped from that single center pole?" Murray asked as he stared at the roof of their two man tent. "Aren't domes round?"

"Who called it a dome?" Watson inquired, as he hadn't heard it described in that way.

"Captain Moran -- you know, the one with that grand moustache."

"Ah. The gambler. Heard he bagged a Bengal today that had attacked a mail runner." Watson sighed. "I suspect that fellow enjoys going out of his way just to shoot things."

"Still sore from Moran picking at your double-barrelled musket, are you?" Murray chuckled. "Why do you even have that thing? You're a doctor."

"My brother insisted I take it. More of a hunting piece than an army one. You'd think Moran would have appreciated that, if he's the sportsman he claims to be."

Murray suddenly sat up and froze, motioning Watson to keep silent. 

"What is is?" Watson whispered.

"I hear something," Murray whispered back.

Something pushed against the side of the tent, then again closer to the front flaps. The front tent flaps rustled and a furry feline head came through.

"TIGER!" Watson shouted and grabbed for his double-barrelled musket, swung it toward the intruder, and pulled both triggers. The musket clicked on empty chambers.

"Rowr" chirped the curious tiger cub.

Murray broke into hysterical laughter and Watson found himself laughing along.

"Shoo!" he said and tried to wave the cub off, but the young tiger started swatting back at Watson with his paws. Using his musket's barrels, he pushed the tiger cub out of the tent and tied the flaps up tight, also holding them together until he was sure the cub had moved on.

"We should have brought a guard dog," Watson suggested. 

"Only Americans use pup tents," Murray quipped.

"Go to sleep," the doctor ordered.

And so they slept. And at some point in the night, Murray attempted to wake Watson.

"Watson . . . Watson . . . wake up," the orderly spoke quietly.

"What?"

"Look up and tell me what you see."

"If somebody didn't steal our tent, I'm not opening my eyes."

Something snuffled next to Watson's face.

The tiger cub was back.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, I have no idea how to write a joke. And I don't know what happens with that tiger cub now. So I guess this is just random fanfic at this point.  Thanks and apologies to all who make it to this sentence.

The Grand Game turns out to be a match, or have a match, or . . .

 It's been a good week.

Sherlock & Co. had my favorite episode ever. I signed up for March's Holmes, Doyle, & Friends conference. And a noted Sherlockian authority declared that Sherlockiana and professional wrestling are pretty much the same thing.

I KNEW IT!!!!

Going back as far as June 1985, and a little newsletter article entitled "When Holmesamania Was Running Wild" commemorated the "Brawl at the Falls" where Holmes surely body-slammed Moriarty into the abyss (and Watson horribly corrupted "body slam" to make it sound faux-Japanese), I've been trying to connect professional wrestling and Sherlockian scholarship. Always trying, but never quite getting there, I have spent the laster nearly four decades trying in vain to tie the two together.

And then, like some Krampusnacht miracle, it happened. 

I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere posted Scott Monty's revelation "The Sherlockian Game Gets A New Word in the Dictionary."

"What could that word be?" I wondered aloud, as I often claim to do when I'm writing my reactions to things. Could it be "Canon?" No, in the dictionary already. "Headcanon?" I had, just this week, heard a wrestling podcaster refer to his own headcanon about a particular wrestling storyline and wondered where that word came from first. And then I just went "Heck with all this guessing!" and read Scott's article.

Kayfabe! Kayfabe was the wo . . . wait a minute. That's a pro wrestling term!

But it all became clear as he cited the word's broader usage: "tacit agreement to behave as if something is real, sincere, or genuine when it is not."

And just as wrestlers train, work out, and strain their bodies to perform their art, so do Sherlockians train their minds, exercise their studies, and push their talents with words to perform their art. Both occasionally risk looking quite ridiculous, and sometimes just go for it and look quite ridiculous on purpose. The same countries seem to favor both . . . Japan, England, America . . . though the Saudis haven't arranged a BSI function in their homeland the way they got the American WWE to bring their best.

And of course, there is that one classic movie that brought in a pro wrestler to fight Sherlock Holmes, only to have Watson do a run-in and beat Holmes's foe with a chair -- those guys knew what was up! One more sign that Holmes and Watson was far ahead of its time and the rest of the world will catch up to it eventually. (And that, my friends, is NOT me doing kayfabe.)

As the producer of a podcast called Sherlock Holmes Is Real, I guess I probably knew there was some kayfabe in this hobby all along. But I just didn't know that word connected us with pro wrestling so well until today. Thanks, Scott, and a happy Krampusnacht to all, and to all a good night! (Except for those bad kids who are going in the bag!)

New Tent Joke Three: The Revenge

 Soooo . . .

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went camping, late June in 1897, to get away from the Queen's Diamond Jubilee.

They had found a spot not far from the quaint little hamlet of Crockershire, and after their first week had become friendly with the locals, stopping in at the local inn for the occasional meal when they felt like something besides the trout they had caught. Holmes even spent one afternoon solving a little mystery for the local baker, a German named Kratzbergen, which Watson laughingly called "The Adventure of the Gingerbread Boy." All of the locals found that the height of comedy, and you would have too, had you been there.

One evening, after returning from a long hike, Sherlock Holmes dropped into a camp chair, sighed, and looked up at the stars.

"Is it Christmas, Watson?" he asked his friend.

"It should probably be Christmas in Ballarat," Watson replied thoughtfully, "Australia being on the opposite side of the globe with the reverse of our current climate. I mean, December 25th was only picked as the date by Constantine the Great in 336 A.D., so there's no reason Australia could not have their own date for it in their winter. Several countries have their own Independence Day, and our North American friends celebrate Thanksgiving on two different days more than a month apart. It seems only natural that someone should celebrate Christmas in June. Personally, I've always enjoyed both our birthdays being in June so we can celebrate them in warm weather,* so the change would probably be refreshing for so many people. But why do you ask, Holmes?"

"Do you remember that German baker that I was of assistance to, who wanted to reward us?"

"Yes, he was quite delighted with our help."

"Once again, you fail to notice a significant detail, much like our previous camping trip."

Sherlock Holmes stood up, revealing a crushed pastry on the camp stool where he had just been sitting.

"I was wondering if it was Christmas, Watson," Holmes sighed, "because someone has stollen our taint!"

***************************

At this point, Yakety Sax probably has to start playing as Watson chases Holmes around the campsite, but you can't really do that in prose. Also can't believe I made it to a third try before finishing with a pun. The other two might have been set-up for this one.

* Watson's opinion does not reflect that of the staff or management of Sherlock Peoria, unless you've actually heard us say that at some point, in which case, yes, it does.

Who got it worse? Mary versus Irene.

The subject of Mary Morstan came up the other night.

Mary's role in the lives of Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson has never been an ideal spot. The abuse she's taken at the hands of creators and Sherlock Holmes fans over time is quite notable, from her early place as a chronological problem to her later place as an impediment to a Holmes/Watson love story. Even in the original stories themselves, where Watson must leave her in order to have an adventure with Sherlock Holmes, and in writing that, Conan Doyle relegated her to off-stage status any way he could, so much that we're not even sure she was Watson's only wife.

But, as I thought about Mary Morstan, that other lady in the lives of Sherlock Holmes came up, Irene Adler. Her abuse by Holmes fans took an entirely different direction from Mary's, yet has been pretty immense. Early on, it was all about somehow nullifying her choice of a husband and her marriage just to get her to hook up with Sherlock somehow. Eventually, she became the epitome of Holmes's regrettable statement "Women are never to be entirely trusted," working for Moriarty and even becoming Moriarty.

Both Mary and Irene tend to be killed off more than any other character in the Sherlock Holmes milieu, outside of those who died in the original stories and have deaths that are just re-adapted. There's a fun podcast called Bonanas for Bonanza out there that comedically reviews old episodes of the TV show Bonanza, and the point they constantly make is how women just don't survive coming into the lives of the Cartwright family, and Mary and Irene seem to make a similar statement about our Baker Street boys. It is definitely a trope from an older, more male-dominated time. Romance must die in service of the non-romance story, even if it's a ship placed there by the fans as with Irene.

Both Mary and Irene have had their own novels, and they get to live as main characters if keeping a decent distance from Holmes and Watson. But getting too close . . . well, except for Kelly Reilly's Mary Morstan, who has lived through two movies and might be a bit nervous about a third . . . getting too involved with Holmes or Watson is just not healthy. Watson's probably-Mary wife at the time of "The Man with the Twisted Lip" was compared to a lighthouse that attracted the grieving like birds. Holmes calls Watson a bird, "the stormy petrel of crime," at one point, and one has to wonder if Watson was not still in grief over a previous doomed wife when he was attracted to her as well. Watson's history in fandom is full of doomed wives, of which Mary is the queen.

Irene Adler, on the other hand, is lucky that Sherlock Holmes shows no interest in women ninety-nine percent of the time. (Maud Bellamy lives!) She doesn't have to die for the Holmes/Watson detective agency to charge on at full speed. (Most of the time.) She's still "the late Irene Adler" in a later reference by Watson, almost as if her creator can't help himself but make sure she's not coming back.  

Times have changed, though, and now we're going to get a TV series where Holmes is dead and Watson is going solo, so maybe Mary Morstan will fare better in that show with Sherlock out of the way. Hope springs eternal. And will that show get along for a full seven season run without Irene coming by? It would be nice if she got to have an ongoing life as well. Though if Holmes eventually comes back in CBS's Watson, as he always tends to do when he falls off a waterfall . . .

Well, I hope times really have changed.

Another New Tent Joke

 Okay, once you don't succeed, try, try again . . .

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson decided to go camping. Far from the streets of London, past the well-remembered university town, the detective and the doctor alighted on a small platform in front of an even smaller station. Looking up at the sky, Watson tucked his now-unnecessary umbrella under his arm, and picked up his bag. The two men walked over a mile enjoying the local scenery.

"Here is the spot we shall pitch our tent for the night," Holmes declared, tapping the ground with his walking stick.

"Our tent," Watson said, a statement with hints of doubt in it.

"Yes, our tent," Holmes replied. 

"This is where you're saying we should pitch our tent," Watson questioned, a rare event in their friendship.

"Yes, Watson, this spot has all the qualities of an excellent camp site," Holmes answered flatly.

Watson, however, was not so easily convinced.

"Holmes, I have been with you on many adventures. I have trusted you in the face of danger of every sort -- bullets, poison darts, noxious fumes, Professor Moriarty's entire criminal empire. I have let my medical skills lapse in accompanying you, failed at marriage three times due to participating in this detective business, and broken three bones in an incident you won't even let me put before the public. I have weaned you from your addictions, entertained your delusions and charades both knowingly and unknowingly, and even spent an overnight in the company of that wretched Josiah Amberly at your request."

"Yes," agreed Holmes.

"But you are telling me, that we're going to pitch our tent, here, in the middle of the street, in front of a milliner's shop, in a public thoroughfare?" Watson glared at Holmes with the level of rage that can only come from over twenty years of sharing an apartment.

"Yes," Sherlock Holmes told Watson. "I'm sick of camping. We're staying at that inn across the street. Pitch that tent into that rubbish heap over there, and let's go have supper."

********************

Okay, at least Holmes isn't farting this time.

It occurred to me, as I took a long walk before dusk tonight, that the tent joke is actually the perfect condensed Sherlock Holmes story. The punchline is the classic change of perspective from "Oh, they're sleeping under the stars" to "They were supposed to be in a tent," with that added seasoning of the great criminologist being the victim of a crime. The Hound of the Baskervilles is a demon hound that Holmes changes our perspective to see it's a normal dog at the end. A "Sussex vampire" is shown to be a woman sucking out poison. A strange, meaningless job is a ruse to tunnel out of a basement. 

So I went with a change of perspective that, in the end, was not all that funny. Not really an M. Night Shyamalan twist there, and not really a good joke, either.

And on we go.

A New Tent Joke

 Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went camping . . . stop me if you've heard this . . .

Sorry, but you haven't, and, really, this is a blog post and I'm just going to keep typing, so settle in.

After a good meal of trout, freshly caught in a nearby river, Sherlock Holmes reached into his well-worn leather knapsack and pulled out a harmonica.

"Have I ever told you about the time my grandfather was of service to the Hohner brothers, Watson?" Sherlock Holmes asked, then immediately put the harmonica in his mouth and started playing a sprightly tune before Watson could answer. Watson, quite taken with the tune -- an old camp favorite from his days in the Northumberland Fusiliers -- began to sing along with full-throated delight.

After the third verse and a complete description of the lady whose virtues the song extolled, Sherlock Holmes stopped playing and cocked his head slightly to one side.

"Do you hear that, Watson?"

Watson stopped and listened.

"It's the song of the woodlands, Holmes. The insects, the night birds, the gentle breezes passing through the trees above. And . . . there! In the distance, a lonely canine bays at the moon in lieu of good company. We must not be too far from a farm. The crackle of our own campfire, making our own ripple on this gentle sea of sound . . . what could be better!"

"To truly perceive one's surroundings, one must let the genius loci enter the quieted mind, and hear what lies inside, waiting to be heard."

Watson relaxed and let his mind go still. His ears attuned to catch some secret nature's view-halloo.

Sherlock Holmes rose slightly from his seat in the fashion of a Spanish caganer, and let trumpet a mighty wind, which carried in Watson's direction, offending his nostrils shortly after the sound had offended his ears.

"I am setting fire to our tent," Dr. Watson announced, and promptly doused it with kerosene and lit it with a glowing ember from the fire.

********************

Okay, I didn't know where that was going when I started, but when it took that audio turn, it had to go Blazing Saddles. Apologies to my more respectable friends for that cheap shot. I shall try again another day. 

The Rise of the Unreal and Sherlock Holmes

 As a few of you might have noticed, I sometimes play around with a podcast called Sherlock Holmes Is Real. The title itself comes from the longstanding game of Sherlock Holmes fandom approaching our favorite detective as if he were a real, historical personage. The rich, detailed original texts from Conan Doyle made this entirely possible, as he portrayed Holmes's era so elaborately. Sherlockians with a bit of whimsy in their soul have enjoyed amusing ourselves with this little game whilst the rest of the world clicked along doing real things and paying real attention to the real efforts of real people.

We used to be the odd ducks, didn't we? Maybe not so odd as the Society for Creative Anachronism, who actually got out there in the dirt and acted like they were in another time, but we held our own in our odd little duck pond. And then we'd go to work at our jobs, spend time with our families, and do all that stuff that needed doing, keeping our little fancy of Sherlock Holmes being a real person for the fun times.

I remember, back in the last century, when someone would say to me (as happened more than once), "If you pretend Watson wrote the stories, people will think he did and won't learn about Conan Doyle!"  My response, depending upon their level of intensity where it was spoken or not, was "People are not that stupid. They'll figure it out."

I mean, Conan Doyle's name is on the spine of the books. They'll figure it out. Right?

Since most folks' contact with Sherlock Holmes is no longer book-first, I don't think that's a problem. Movies, television -- if you don't put "Inspired by true events" at the beginning or the end, only a blessed handful of humans mistake the characters depicted as real. Especially when you're talking about the kind of movies Sherlock Holmes has been in lately. So I don't think the theory that Sherlock Holmes is a real person is going to gain even Flat Earth believer ranks.

But we do have a lot of Flat Earthers these days. And True Believers in, ironically, unbelievable numbers about all sorts of goofy, and often dangerous, stuff. (Thanks, internet!) It almost takes the fun out of pretending a silly thing like Sherlock Holmes being real.

And yet, and yet, and yet . . . here we are.

For pretending Sherlock Holmes is real builds up the belief in us that reason is real. That paying attention is important. That knowledge in all its flavors, is useful. And even that the true facts behind what might appear to be supernatural are usually pretty natural. 

He is a banner to raise in times when all that is in short supply.

And that, I think, is one reason Sherlock Holmes has been so very real to us for a very long time, and, hopefully, will continue to be so.

When Sherlock Holmes has to go into the garbage . . .

Going to whine a bit this afternoon, so forgive me.

 Forty-five years of Sherlockian life does lead to a certain level of accumulation.

I'm not talking about collecting here. I'm talking about the bits and pieces that either just came your way or were extras of things you created or just generally had Sherlock's name or picture or was related to something that had Sherlock's name or picture. Now, the following words might bother a few of you, and there may be some denial triggered as well, so take a breath and just hold for a second after I use these words, but I think what I'm talking about here is Sherlockian trash.

I know, I know, "one man's trash is another man's treasure," but sometimes you just shouldn't be held responsible for finding that other man. Only so much time in the world, and sometimes, the trash has to be taken out. Or recycled.

Whilst a lot of society functions in the paperless world of the internet at this point, t'was not always so. Materials were printed, photocopied, mimeographed, or retyped for even the most limited of moments -- a paper presented at scion meeting for eight people that you made fifteen copies of, for example. Not something you throw away immediately, and eventually these pile up. Or those thirty extra copies of the local Sherlockian society newsletter that got printed up in 1992, that, gee, they're old, but are they collectable? Copies were send to the big library archives back in the day, so it's not like they're vanishing off the face of the earth if you dump a few.

And there's a limited amount of this stuff you can pass along to younger Sherlockian friends as novelty items. Or sit out on a giveaway table at a con. And a lot of it doesn't have meaning or significance to anyone from another generation or who wasn't there at the time, and you can't expect it to. They have their own detritus picked up along their path.

As impossible as it may seem to some younger version of ourselves, especially a 1980s incarnation, eventually one has to decide that not everything with a deerstalker and a pipe is a holy relic. And some of it might actually need to go into the trash. We do live in an age of massive storage for digital photos of things, so that might ease the conscience a little bit, as throwing photos on a blog might give the Sherlockian historical record a chance of seeing the thing if it ever needs seen. 

For now, back to cleaning . . .

What To Say.

 So, I have this blog.

I've had a blog for twenty-two years now. Ten of those years were on a website that no longer exists, where I'd post weekly, on Sunday nights. After that came this version, where posts came at the pace of things to write. Daily for events, weekly if I could manage, and otherwise, randomly as the spirit moved.

 The spirit doesn't seem to be moving me as much lately, for several reasons. First, especially when it comes to the aforementioned Sunday nights, is that I somehow wandered into other outlets, and now put out a weekly podcast, a monthly chronology newsletter, host a monthly Zoom, and, oh, yes, there's that other podcast hanging out there that I haven't ever quite figured out what to do with. Sometimes, you just get ideas for stuff that hold on to you like a curse. And that's just on the Sherlockian side. I won't get into the things my job has been putting me through of late.

Okay, okay, let's not worry that this is one of those "I have to leave" statements we see so often on social media and the like. This isn't that.

This is me just wondering what to write. Like I said, other things competing for time, but at the same time, something has changed. The internet has changed, to be sure. The algorithms have taken the reliability of anything you write being seen away, unless you pay to play. And we live in an age where we are overrun with opinions, and I am no longer young enough to foolishly believe my opinion is all that important for the world to hear. Annnnd, at some point, you've had the same opinions long enough that even you're bored with them. The world isn't going to change on some points, as foolish as they might be.

The world literally has more writers than it ever has. More published writers, too, now that the gatekeepers are barely holding the gates up, just so name celebrities can walk through. Can an individual writer's voice can be heard against the din? I wonder about that, too.

And we're all just fodder for somebody's AI or the other at this point. Any Zoom call your on is apt to have a little AI assistant quietly making notes of what was said, like a creepy little spy in the corner of the room. It can take the best of what you said, combine it with better things it learned from other places, and make its own swell-sounding statements.

It all can be pretty depressing, if one is leaning toward the gloom, especially with all the other shit flowing from a certain volcano of rot of late. And what can one do against all of these bleak omens of shadows overtaking the Earth?

I guess one can write. And even if one has nothing to say, there are still some words that will follow other words into forming sentences, and sentences into paragraphs. And maybe just have enough humanity left in the results to let our friends know that we're still alive and maybe not a software replicant of someone they used to know . . . for now.

And on we go.

So, I'm thinking this was the first guy Sherlock Holmes killed.

 Our library book club that only does short stories, and only short stories with Sherlock Holmes in them, and only the ones by Conan Doyle, except sometimes we do those four novels . . . well, anyway, we met tonight. And we talked about "The Boscombe Valley Mystery." And I had this thought.

At the end of the case, Sherlock Holmes says, "I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say, 'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes."

Now, the case he's talking about involved a guy who killed a blackmailer from his past. Sherlock Holmes was hired by the guy's daughter, and the guy is old and supposedly dying anyway, so Sherlock lets him off. But that thing he says . . . "There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes." It sounds like Sherlock Holmes has just heard old Turner's confession and thought, "Wow, I really relate to that."

But why would he think that? Had he killed a blackmailer who returned from his past to haunt him?

Or maybe helped kill a blackmailer who returned from the past to haunt that friend's family member?

It seemed like such an odd thing for Holmes to say out of context that I immediately theorized tonight that Holmes must have done that very thing. And we know that Holmes's start in the crime business was a triggering incident in the story Watson wrote up as "The Gloria Scott." And, gee, there was that blackmailer Hudson that came out of Trevor Senior's past in that story, just as the events in Boscombe Valley played out. Could Holmes and his college buddy Victor Trevor have killed Hudson, just as old Turner did in Boscombe Valley?

Victor Trevor does flee England to live in southern Nepal or northern India after whatever happened at his family home. Sherlock Holmes returns to London and seeks our a fellow lodger so he has an excuse to fund a landlady named Mrs. Hudson in need of tenants. And eventually we are. told that Holmes paid Mrs. Hudson "princely sums." Was someone trying to ease some guilt with those payments?

It seemed pretty odd as well for Sherlock Holmes, after telling Watson about Hudson in that case write-up to just basically go, "The police think Hudson killed another guy named Beddoes and fled, but I think Beddoes killed him." So if Hudson's body ever did turn up, Holmes has a pre-selected suspect from a case he's have surely solved if it had been just hanging out in his origin story all that time.

It has always seemed a bit coincidental that we never hear of Mr. Hudson or what happened to him, and maybe that was on purpose . . . because we sort of did hear. Was "The Gloria Scott" Watson's way of telling us without telling us, even though Holmes was thought to be dead when he published it?

A number of criminals who passed through Sherlock Holmes's casebooks had mysterious deaths after seeming to escape justice. And Hudson was the first. 

Maybe the first at not escaping justice, thanks to Sherlock Holmes, as well?

The Montague Street Incorrigibles Pub Night 2024

 Here it is, mid-October already, and, well, we'd best think a bit about January, as many an American Sherlockians (and a few of our kin elsewhere) are apt to do in the fall. Does Sherlock Holmes's Birthday actually fall in January? As a dedicated Sherlockian chronologist, I have to answer "Who knows?"  -- but what I do know is that a lot of Sherlockians find that time to be their season for seeing and being seen.

The evening of Friday, January 17 is rather key to that, Baker Street Irregulars annual dinner and all, but there are always those whose awareness of that evening centers around the fact that they can't be in New York for one of the dinners held that night. So what's left for those of us in our scattered abodes that night?

Well, the Montague Street Incorrigibles, of course.

Less strict admittance standards, no need to dress up, and we have our spies.

It's the a six-hour Zoom hangout that's never the same twice. (Except for the arcane membership ritual, which inducts those who undergo its rigors into the society. There's a nifty PDF membership certificate endorsed by an ape!) What will happen this year? Who knows? Possibly more to come on that, but it's mainly a way to spend an evening with some fellow Sherlockians when you can't be with the pilgrims making their way to New York City for the annual rituals there.

Here's the link for registration: https://us02web.zoom.us/meeting/register/tZwof-qgqjsoH9AItYBhp8Rkm4j5x5_s1vpT

There's no other gathering like it, and it's never recorded, since everybody has to miss something that night! So if you already know what your plans aren't going to be on Friday night January 17th between the hours of 6 P.M. to midnight Eastern time, think about joining the motley crew at "the Dangling Prussian," our virtual meeting place where it is always 1895. (And hopefully, the world hasn't exploded by then!)

What Will Happen To Sherlock Holmes's Killer After "The Final Problem?"

 Every day I scroll through a news feed where some algorithm looks through what TV shows I watch, and see endless headlines that ask me easily answerable questions. They are questions that don't require an entire story to answer, questions that are only there to get a click routing to a page full of adds wrapped around one or two paragraphs of non-info.

The original stories of Sherlock Holmes, of course, came out in a different era. 

Media in that time was just newspapers, letters, and word of mouth, and while newspapers were trying to get you to read them with big headlines shouted by newsboys, the ads were only a part of the revenue stream. You still had to pay for the paper. And those headlines were about the biggest stories that affected the most people. The London Times never tried to pull Jane Austen fans into buying papers with speculation about Elizabeth Bennett as the front page leader.

The internet, however, can slice and dice its readership into the slimmest tailored niche headlines. Had "The Final Problem" been published today, two years later, with another eight before "Empty House," we'd be getting constant headlines like "Conan Doyle Reveals Future Of Sherlock Holmes" (He was asked about writing more Holmes for the fiftieth time, he said "No." For the fiftieth time.). Or "What Will Happen To Sherlock Holmes's Killer After 'The Final Problem?'" (Well, we think he fell off that waterfall and died, but nobody saw it or found the body. You actually thought we knew more than you? Silly fan!)

The headline leading to the non-story is but one technique these "news" sites use to draw clicks. Another is picking some other site's actual essay and reporting on that as their own news story. Let's give that a try!

Christopher Plummer Portrays An Odd Preachy Sherlock

Is Christopher Plummer's portrayal of Sherlock Holmes in "Murder By Decree" a good representation of the classic detective?

In a recent blog post from Two Tarnished Beeches Christopher Plummer's performance was judged "odd" and "preachy" in a discussion that fans of Christopher Plummer will certainly disagree with. 

Now, a sensible person is going to click on that link to the original post and quit reading the re-hash that was written just to generate a headline, but at that point, the derivative site has already got you to click on their link and shown you their ads. 

Sherlock Holmes having fans means that we will always get clickbait about "Sherlock Holmes 3" or Benedict Cumberbatch or whatever comes next. We don't get quite the YouTube attention of a Disney-owned property, but maybe we just haven't found the right You-Tuber yet. That's a completely different topic . . .

Some weeks later . . . .

When I originally wrote this bit about clickbait headlines, I thought I had see the internet at its worst. Then came today's headlines on Google News, "Walmart to Shut Down All Stores in Illinois: What This Means To You," "Supermarkets Announce 1-day Store Closures -- Official Date Now Available," and on and on and on about stores announcing they're closing, until about fifteen headlines down someone finally gives the game away with "Walmart, Target will be closed for Thanksgiving again this year."  Yep, same as every year. Good lord, the world has gone stupid . . . .

Hugh Laurie in the Sherlock & Co. Universe

 Things got weird this week in the world of Sherlock & Co., that podcast every Sherlockian should be giving a listen to. In a Patreon exclusive mailbag episode, their "Mrs. Hudson" was answering questions and stated that her favorite doctor was Hugh Laurie in House. This was Marianna speaking as herself in the universe of the show, where she works with Sherlock Holmes and was being read mailbag questions by Doctor John H. Watson.

And yet she likes Hugh Laurie in a TV show, that, in our world, was inspired by Sherlock Holmes.

I have questions!

In Sherlock & Co.'s world, does Gregory House live at 221 Baker Street in apartment B?

In Sherlock & Co.'s world, who does Hugh Laurie play in that movie he was in with Will Farrell and John C. Reilly, and what was that movie's title?

In Sherlock & Co.'s world, does Marianna also like that actor who plays Dr. Strange? And how does she feel about that Everett K. Ross character, played by Martin Freeman? Is she a fan of Martin Freeman?

I felt like shouting "THEY"RE CROSSING THE STREAMS! THEY"RE CROSSING THE STREAMS!" out my window, as my brain tried to parse out this universe that has a Holmes-related actor in a world where Sherlock Holmes isn't from some hundred plus year old stories.

Sherlock & Co. is so full of pop culture references that I'm sure this is not the last time we'll be faced with such a puzzler. But I'm looking forward to everything that comes next on and around that show!

So let's talk about Sherlock Holmes s**tposting . . .

 We all have our opinions. And we know that. It's just that sometimes we think it's not just an opinion, it's the One Correct Answer.

My friend Rob posted his weekly blog column on the negativity he'd see from some Sherlockians online about our latest big Sherlock, "Cumberbashing" was the term he used. Typically we see bashing of a particular Holmes portrayal from a couple of sources: Those new to the community who don't realize what a big tent Sherlock Holmes fans encompass, or those whose egotism and mindset doesn't allow that other opinions could have value or that others might feel a sting from their words.

Rob wrote of the big three: Rathbone, Brett, and Cumberbatch. All have their diehard fans and most of us know to be a little measured in our discourse, like different denominations of the same religion with nearby churches.  

But what about Matt Frewer? Is his Sherlock fair game, just because his fans tend to rarely be in the room?

And what about . . . oh, you think I'm going to Will Ferrell? Mais non, mon petit! . . . season four of BBC Sherlock?

Nothing is worse than a pundit with God on their side, or a seemingly overwhelmingly popular opinion. With season four of BBC Sherlock,  all the Canon-only Sherlockians, all the Brett-Is-The-One-True-Sherlock-ians, everyone who had any reason to dump on the Cumberbatch series to start with, all saw their opportunity to invite disgruntled fans of the show to the Dark Side. They might as well have gone full Palpatine and just said it . . .

"Good. Use your aggressive feelings, boy. Let the hate flow through you."

But here's the thing. We all really hate something. If you go back in time with this blog post, you'll find I was as evil as could be about CBS's Elementary. I should just shut the hell up, having written such things. But nobody is as preachy as a reformed villain, so I'm gonna preach.

If you're talking one on one with a friend you know well, let it all out. Find that person, give them a heads up to center themselves, and then talk all the shit you have in your mental bowels. But on a Zoom call with a whole bunch of people, including some you barely know? In a Facebook channel for folks just looking for Sherlock news of any sort? Why take the chance of ruining someone's day to air your grievances. If you want to make that your brand, it's a free country (so far), so make your own feed somewhere where folks can ignore you as needed.

Of course, I know you aren't like that. If you read my blogs you pretty much have to be one of those saints who has no problem with the odd opinion. And I thank you for that.

Also, my apologies to Rob for using his post as a springboard for a cannonball into the pool. Ah, but it's Sunday night and I'm all bad-tempered about having to go back to work again tomorrow.

Minneapolis and Sherlock Holmes @ 50: Sunday Interruptus

 Soooo, 9 AM on a Sunday . . .  and way back over at the library. 

Well, that might have worked for someone who hadn't abused his digestive tract and missed much of his Saturday night sleep. And yet, I just had to see what Max Magee was up to, as you just never know . . .

So Julie McKuras introduced Max, because you just can't have anyone introduce Max. Plus, it's Minneapolis, and I needed to throw a Julie pic in.

And then Max stepped up to discuss four copies of a magazine for an hour.

Yes, you heard me right, four copies of a magazine. Well, more than that actually, but he was mainly doing his talk in honor of the four copies of Beeton's Christmas Annual in the U of M collections, which is probably the most anyone has out of the twenty-something known copies.

Who was Mrs. Beeton? Who owned those known copies and where did they get them? And, hey, do you remember this Jerome Kern song? I don't remember Max's credits including any Wisconsin dairy work, but he milked those four copies of a magazine like a guy who knew how to work the udders of information.

Okay . . . now, I have to say it's Sunday night after one big weekend, I've got a ticket for a Ghost Boat in an hour, and I had to leave after Max's talk for reasons nobody wants to hear detailed, so I'm distracting you with Wisconsin dairy references. (Had a hot skillet of mac n' cheese for supper in the heart of Wisconsin, so there might be a reason for that.)

Anyway, here's a slide of Max's discovery that Johnlock existed before BBC Sherlock.

And with that, I'm outa hear. Plenty of photos from folks to see on Facebook from the weekend, so borrow someone's FB account if you don't have one.

Minneapolis and Sherlock Holmes @ 50: Saturday Part The Last

 Okay, so I took a nap. I'm not as young as Peter Blau.

Apologies to Will Walsh and the lawyers among us for not reviewing "Treason: British Law, Holmes, and Doyle." But I made it back for Mark and JoAnn Alberstat's "Written in the Stars: Moriarty's Canadian Connection."

Simon Newcomb, a prodigy from Nova Scotia who became an expert in celestial mechanics, is thought to have surely been the inspiration for Professor Moriarty. (Google it! There's a lot.) All kinds of fascinating stuff there, as when Newcomb reached out to friend Alexander Graham Bell with an idea to help save president Garfield after the assassination attempt that eventually killed him.

Once JoAnn got to listing the Newcomb/Moriarty parallels on the academic side of things, including that paper on dynamics of an asteroid that Newcomb wrote at age nineteen, the case gets pretty solid. Eclipses, which Moriarty explained to Inspector MacDonald, were also a subject that excited Newcomb. But can we talk of Moriarty without mention of Moran? A fellow named Alfred Drayson comes into play, also an astronomer with theories on the topic, but also a card player with a big ol' moustache like Moran who was a friend of Conan Doyle who likely talked to Doyle about Newcomb. A bit more of a stretch than the Newcomb/Moriarty parallel for Drayson/Moran, but not without notes of interest.

Newcomb's writings come into play, mentioned in the Strand Magazine, and the many ways Conan Doyle might have been aware of him. Like a few elder Sherlockians of old I encountered, Newcomb had moments where he thought everything possible had been discovered in his field, but eventually realized he was wrong. Did Moriarty realize how wrong he was, eventually, when Holmes was about to bring him down? Mark brings the talk home with the seven specific points of comparison between Newcomb and Moriarty, and blaming Novia Scotia and Canada, ala South Park, for the evil that was Moriarty.

And now, a photo break before dinner.

Rich Krisciunas finds 221, and it's leasing!

The banquet that followed featured a lot of toasts between our salads (there when we arrived) and the main course. I did the usual "When did toasts turn into mini-presentations?" complaint. (Really, people, stop it. Toasts are meant to be quick, clever, and get you drinking.) One particular toast, however, was a thing of wonder that might surprise a few of my younger friends. The Norwegian Explorers' own Erica Fair was tasked with the toast to the second Mrs. Watson, as many have over the decades. Erica went down the list of qualities needed in a second Mrs. Watson to identify the one person who was surely that later spouse of the good doctor, then concluded with the words, "To the second Mrs. Watson . . . Sherlock Holmes!" She was rewarded with joyous laughter and the heartiest applause of the evening, in a room largely populated with traditional Sherlockians. While every single person in the room might not have been on board, it sure seemed like Johnlock shipping is finding its way to acceptance in the hobby as a whole. Of course an Irene Adler toast came after, so there's room for everyone in this big ol' tent. ("Even Maud Bellamy," he hastened to add.)

After dinner, Les Klinger said he had been asked to stand in for Laurie King and talked about his path into Sherlockiana and some thoughts about its path onward. His talk was followed by Peter Blau serving as auctioneer to raise funds for the Collections selling a few items. Auctions at fan venues have always gotten a little crazy, since my first experience with one at a Star Trek convention in the 1980s, and this was no different. The one notable difference was that in addition to the normal folks stretching their limits to get something, we do have a Sherlockian or two with pockets known to be deep enough to take the suspense out of their desire to walk away with something. (And one weird request we still haven't figured out.)

But that was the end of the official program, and here are some pictures of what came after.

Founders of the Hansom Cab Clock Club with a known photobomber

Next to the Norwegian Explorers, I think the Parallel Case was best represented.

The Eckrich-Nunn editorial team.

After dinner drinks at the brewery patio next door, which got overtaken by about fifty Sherlockians.

Can a BSI scarf be tied like a bow tie?

What a BSI bow tie is supposed to look like.

The last stragglers seen from the sixth floor.

Minneapolis and Sherlock Holmes @ 50: Saturday Part The Second

 After a nice break and some shouting about the Tea Brokers, our next speaker is Stephen Lee, whose little book with the same name as his talk appeared in our conference packet. The talk? "The Silent Contest: How Sherlock Brought Down Professor Moriarty and Why Dr. Watson Lied." Using his experience as a federal prosecutor, Stephen is diving into the contradictions the Canon holds about Holmes, Watson, and Moriarty.

"Why did Watson lie?" Stephen asks, regarding Watson's "Never!" at being asked if he had heard of Moriarty before late April 1891, and then gets into the course of a full investigation of a criminal like Moriarty. Going back as early as A Study in Scarlet, Stephen proposes that Watson was playing down Holmes's knowledge and ability so Professor Moriarty would not think this guy was anywhere smart enough to come after him. Watson describing Holmes's astronomy know-how as "Nil" would have especially amused the writer of "Dynamics of an Asteroid" and make him feel less threatened. And that's just for starters. Stephen Lee has given a whole lot of thought to Holmes's investigation of Moriarty. (Just like every speaker so far at this conference. Minneapolis doesn't mess around.)

The statement "Everybody loves Irene Adler" did get some quiet "No" reactions from this side of our table, but that might have been the only big disagreement with his talk. And given that Stephen is all that stands between us and lunch at this point, that's pretty good. Even Holmes's occasional bashing of Scotland Yard comes into play. 

Lunch came up quickly, and the lunch lines were nicely short. More scanning the dealer's tables and talking to a wide array of Sherlockians before we resume at 1:30. The after-lunch spot on the schedule can be a challenge for a speaker, but luckily we have Burt Wolder speaking about artist Frederic Dorr Steele. Then again, as I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere listeners know, Burt's voice has an easy, comfortable tone to it that might relax one to the point of napping, should the content fail to keep one alert -- but as Burt moves through the details of Steele's life, that does not seem to be the case.

Steele illustrated a good many things, included some of Frank Stockton's work (Remember "The Lady and the Tiger?" That guy.). Created some new proceses for prints, met Mark Twain, defending the artists against particular criticisms, Monhegan Island . . . a life contains a good share of material, and Burt is strollling through it all. A big highlight was Steele's own little pastiches making fun of bits of his life, but complete with very Frederic Dorr Steele drawings of Sherlock Holmes.

Very aware of the dangers he faces as the after-lunch speaker, Burt also invited us to stand up at one point, and a good share of us do. And nothing against the next speaker, but I am finding I might need to take an afternoon break in my hotel room after this -- which has long been my course during Minnesota conferences. Is it because the talks go closer to an hour than some other venues? I don't know. But there seems to be a pattern. (Perhaps it's that speakers on the hour gives you that hour-long opening to get a short nap and only miss one talk. And once that thought is in your head . . .)

In any case, I will bid you adieu for this report. A lot more Saturday to go! 

Minneapolis and Sherlock Holmes @ 50: Saturday Part The First

 Saturday morning began a little easier for "Sherlock Holmes @ 50" attendees as the conference moved from the library a few long blocks away to the host hotel, so all we had to do was make our way downstairs, grab something at the hotel Starbucks, and wander down the hall to the wide room of tables where we'd be spending our day.

After a little browsing of the dealer's tables at the outer edges of the room, I settled at one of the tables lucky enough to have black armbands waiting (in honor of the legend of the young men of the Strand upon the publication of "The Final Problem"). A little chat and Dick Sveum called us to order and very shortly got us to our first speaker, Eric Scace, who came all the way from Boulder, Colorado to speak on "Some Clues by Telegram: 50 Years of Canonical Connections." His deep dive into telegraphy and the way it occurs in the Canon actually started to get into some of my favorite turf: Sherlockian chronology. The Valley of Fear, for example, has a telegram key to its dating, coming at the end to tell of the loss at sea of Birdy Edwards/John Douglas. He seems to be targeting 1888, which agrees with my own dating of the tale so I like where he's headed.

Ivy Douglas embarking at Capetown and the $1,390 it would cost to send a cablegram to London is a real shocker. Eric discusses how she might have cut down her wording and gotten it down to $800, and then follows the transmission and the cables of how her message would have been sent north. We learn of tape sending machines, Zanzibar cable stations, the re-entering of the message at such stations from one cable
end to another. (Side note: After seeing Shark Attack 3: Megaladon, I have to wonder about sharks biting those early cables after being attracted to the electrical charge, which, apparently, did happen in those early days. AND ERIC JUST MENTIONED SHARKS BITING CABLES!!! Shark Attack 3: Megaladon finds validation.) 

Passing around a sample of cable just hit a dead end as our table passed it to an boxed-in "We've all seen it!" table, but Max Magee appeared like a superhero descending from the sky to help the poor young lady holding a cable with nowhere to go, and moved it across the room.

Max Magee, photographed from a safe distance

Meanwhile, Eric Scace is still tracking the route of the telegrams, shipping news, how late at night Mrs. Hudson brought up the note, and puts that message coming through at March 4-6, 1888. A lot to explore for our chronology friends. I wish I had taken better notes instead of blogging and re-sizing photos of Max. I will definitely be asking Eric where his talk might be published or how one might otherwise get a copy for reference. 

We get five minutes to stand up, so I'm standing up now.

Matt Hall, a great Sherlockian I just met for the first time at this conference, is our next speaker, on phosphorous and the hellhound from The Hound of the Baskervilles. Even though he's currently a resident of Maryland, Matt's still got just enough of his native Australian accent to give the conference some early international flavor. The question of the toxicology of phosphorous being applied to a dog is reached quickly, so he deep dives into chemistry and allotropes, an important factor in this case. (Google "allotropes.") Alchemists boiling down urine comes up and we get grossed out for a moment. And further grossed out by by said alchemists writing about applying it to their "privvy parts." Chemistry is apparently a lot yuckier than I remember, when one goes into the historical records. We get confirmation that no mammals or fairies have native bioluminescence, meaning that the Baskerville hound definitely needed some phosphorous.

Matt has dug into many a newspaper article on phosphorous being used in ghost pranks when fairly safe preparations of phosphorous were rubbed on people, sheets, and even bicycles, so earlier Sherlockian papers on phosphorous killing the poor hound it was applied to. 

Holmes was an experienced chemist, Matt points out, and he would have known how phosphrous was used. All in all, this talk was a great validation of The Hound of the Baskervilles having occurred as we have read it. In addition some healthy applause at the end of his talk, Matt got at least one "WOOO!" from the crowd, as well as the special challenge coin being handed to the speakers for their efforts.

Time to move along once more!

Minneapolis and Sherlock Holmes @ 50: Friday evening

 After Jim Hawkins and Emily Miranker gave the second and third presentations of the afternoon, a refreshment break in the library lobby occurred, and instead of getting in line, this little podcaster started to scout a fairly quiet location for recording this week's Bull Pups review of Sherlock & Co. The final result was a spot in the upstairs hallway next to the Allen Mackler recreation of the 221B sitting room -- not without a little traffic or issues, but infinitely quieter than the three stories of the main lobby, echoing with the chats of a hundred and sixty Sherlockians.

That done, the police whistle blew to announce the Friends of the Sherlock Holmes Collections annual meeting, run by Gary Thaden, the president of same. Officers were elected, the health of the Collections was pronounced as good, and some news was imparted. Tim Johnson's coming retirement as curator of the Collections loomed large in that talk, but the news that he was staying on long enough to deal with some new additions to the collections was the sweet side of that bittersweet talk. Tim has been terrific in the role, actively promoting the Collections in places many Sherlockians don't dare to tread and building an ever-better archive of Sherlock Holmes here at the university. Coming additions include Denny Dobry's well-known and loved 221B recreation and author Laurie King's papers. (As well as something else I might have forgotten after the festivities of the evening that followed.)

Ira Matesky, karaoke king, Nero Wolfe scholar, and Sherlockian force of nature, was the meeting's guest speaker and big closing act for the day. Ira spoke on libraries, the items that can be found hidden in their archives, and the missing pieces of Sherlock Holmes history that are still out there to be discovered. And if that doesn't sound like a topic where a speaker could crack up the audience a few times along the way, you don't know Ira. More importantly, Ira inspired (and shoved, gently, in his Ira fashion) those in attendance to investigate their own local libraries for materials regarding Conan Doyle and Holmes that might have found their way there from local collectors over the years. People wrote to Conan Doyle from all over the world, and he wrote back. One just never knows.

Later that evening I would despair that we had no karaoke venue to entertain ourselves, but that was not because of anything lacking in Ira's performance. I've enjoyed every talk I've heard from him. (And I'm not just saying this because I know he's going to read it.)

After that, we all broke into little groups of dinner parties. I fell in with some old favorite Canadians and Texans, for dinner and drinks at the Corner Bar, then after a return to the hotel lobby and a "Why didn't we stay at the bar?" moment, heading the the outside patio of the Town Hall Brewery for more drinks and dessert.

The ever-thinking Sherlockian Brainiac of the "younger" generation, Max Magee, had worked out that 10:18 PM is 22:18 in military time, which is the minute that represents 221B Baker Street as well as 2:21 AM might, so at that moment a good dozen Sherlockians heartily recited Vincent Starrett's poem "221B" on a Minneapolis sidewalk, possibly puzzling the locals.

At which point, I quite literally stumbled off to bed, and saved this write-up for a clearer morning mind!

Minneapolis and Sherlock Holmes @ 50: Friday Morning and Earl Afternoon

 One of the things I love about a big Sherlockian weekend is the random encounters that turn into long conversations. Case in point, around seven AM this Friday, I was feeling a bit hungry, and not wanting a full hotel breakfast, went across the street to a coffee shop for some tea and any pastry they happened to have. There I saw the editors of Canadian Holmes, Mark and JoAnn Alberstat, said hello and asked if I could sit with them, which resulted in some lovely talk about Conan Doyle and things Sherlockian. Since we were all in a mood for a walk, we navigated over to the Elmer L. Anderson Library, where the displays and the day’s talks were to take place. None of that would open until 9 AM, of course, so eventually we wandered back to the hotel and took a break before heading to that opening.

In the meantime, of course, many Sherlockian friends had organized a breakfast outing, and were going to be a bit in coming back, so when the displays and 221B recreation opened at nine, I got to get in and photograph everything before anyone was really looking at it. (See previous blog post.) After that, I started to head back to the hotel, but ran into Charles and Kris Prepolec and Mike McSwiggin and just had to see Charles looking over the array of old books that were in the 221B sitting room, so I went back in.

Eventually when I did head back to the hotel, I found my bull pup podcast crew, Madeline and Heather, and set about plotting our recording session in a nice outdoor spot on the way back to the library. We got to that spot, got out the laptop and prepared to record, but found I hadn’t brought the adapter I needed for the microphone, having left it back in the hotel room. It was a little warm out in the sun, so we postponed the recording and headed back to the library, where registration was about to start.

Joe Eckrich stopped me, as he was collecting autographs for the new Holmes in Heartland collection, and somehow that put me into the middle of the growing registration line. Is it cutting if a line seems to grow around you? I don’t know, but Sherlockians are kindly folk and didn’t kick me to the back. Many of us had picked up our name badges the night before, so registration was picking up programs, the big red hardback book that was a part of the conference goodies. yet another book on the display, still another book (a pastiche, I think -- haven’t looked yet) and more. The folks at the registration table nicely bagged all this up in a clear plastic bag with handles.

The University of Minnesota Special Collections had a table of some of their duplicates and donations for sale, and . . . well, I don’t want to get into how much I spent on an impulse buy, but I was helping Kristin Mertz avoid overspending of her own by taking that bullet so to speak. (That’s the story as I’m telling it now. Kristin might tell you something a little different.) In any case, have loaded up with books and needing lunch, the four block walk back to the hotel was necessary once again. I met my old friend Don Hobbs, who was walking with Tim Kline, and we agreed to have lunch together when we got back to the lobby. As I waited for Don, I was talking to Gayle Pugh, who was thinking the walk to the library might be a bit much, so I offered to grab my car and drive her to the library door -- which was actually possible to do. So my fourth trip from hotel to library and back was a little quicker.

Back at the hotel, we headed out for lunch to the pub next door only to find some Sherlockians coming out of said pub with news that the place was too crowded to get us lunch and out in time for the afternoon program. Across the street to the Corner Bar we went, where we were still concerned about eating and making it out on time. Enter Crystal Noll, one of our 221B Con queen bees, and someone I’ll nominate for captain of our starship if we suddenly find ourselves on a starship. She gave the server a series of simple instructions and our willingness to cooperate to speed things along. She not only got eight of us in and our of the Corner Bar as quickly as possible, she also pulled out a Tide stain removal wipe when I dropped ketchup on myself. 

And we made it back to the Elmer L. Andersen Library in time for Dick Sveum’s opening remarks and Rebecca Romney’s opening talk on collectors and collecting, past, present, and future. (During which I’ve been writing this blog.) Rebecca’s talk was a great opener, looking forward in ways Sherlockian talks often miss in looking to the past. Jim Hawkins is going to come up next to talk about John Bennett Shaw, but for now, I’ll  post this much.

Minneapolis and Sherlock Holmes @ 50: The Displays

Pics from Saturday morning!