“Over-Worked and Under-Loved,” Franklin and Dave

NEWS AND NOTES Compiled by Shelly Davis-King, Davis-King & Associates (shellydk@ frontiernet.net) News and Notes contains expanded treatment of archaeological issues, descriptions of unusual artifacts and sites, summaries of fieldwork, SCA organizational and awards news, important new legislation, and an honoring of our colleagues who have passed on. This edition includes information on the discovery of the cave where the Chumash Lone Woman lived and Frank Fenenga honored in Sands of Time. Lone Woman’s Cave Found on San Nicolas Island Navy archaeologist Steve Schwartz, teaming with archaeology students from California State University, Los Angeles (CSULA) under the direction of René Vellanoweth, have uncovered the long lost cave where the Lone Woman of San Nicolas Island was reported to have lived during her 18 years of isolation. The Lone Woman was found working in a brush covered windbreak on the west end of the island, but early accounts state she was actually living in a cave nearby. The cave was explored in the years immediately after her discovery, but the location of the cave was lost over the intervening years. Numerous archaeologists have surveyed the island, but no cave was ever reported other than the Cave of the Whales rock art site. As it turns out, the Lone Woman’s cave had become completely buried by sand that became dislodged by subsequent sheep ranching on the island. The cave holds the prospect of an unprecedented archaeological record from the earliest island inhabitants to the very last occupant. The key piece of information that led to the discovery of the cave site was an 1879 U.S. Coast Survey map that shows the location of “Indian Cave.” However, the map was not detailed enough to pinpoint the cave’s location precisely as the shoreline is actually more complex than shown on the map and the cave had become completely buried, with no visible trace of its location. Testing in the area for more than 20 years failed to uncover any evidence of a cave or any occupation for that matter, but one location always looked promising. The break in the story came when U.C. Berkeley researcher, Scott Byram, discovered the field notes that accompany the 1879 U.S. Coast Survey map. The field notes specify that the cave on the map was, in fact, the cave where the Lone Woman was believed to have lived, and the map includes a detailed drawing showing California Archaeology, Volume 5, Number 2, Month 2013, pp. 1–18. Copyright © 2013 Society for California Archaeology. All rights reserved 1 NEWS AND NOTES precise distance and compass bearing from the closest survey station (the location of which could be approximated). This pointed to the same spot that always seemed the most likely location for the cave. With this information, it was determined that the cave must be at this spot, but was likely deeply buried, far deeper than anyone had expected. A field crew consisting of CSULA archaeology students made a herculean effort to remove an estimated one million pounds of sand, all by hand, one bucket load at a time. The cave had become completely buried by windborne and waterborne sediments. The early history of San Nicolas Island saw the development of a sheep ranch in 1857, which triggered an era of extreme erosion due to loss of vegetation. This placed large amounts of blowing sand into the system, which allowed the cave to be completely buried within a short period of time. The top of the cave entrance was buried under two meters of sand, with a total of seven meters deposited over the presumed 1850s floor of the cave. The first evidence of occupation encountered were two sets of initials with the date of September 11, 1911, indicating that the cave was at least still partially open at that time. A midden layer with dark soil, shell, bone, and lithics was encountered at seven meters below the surface. Excavations were stopped at that point, pending review and approval by the Navy to proceed. The cave opening that was exposed is three meters high, five meters wide, and 18 meters deep. The cave goes much deeper. This can be seen in a cavity at the rear of the cave, which extends for at least an estimated five more meters. The cave is an ancient sea cave in an 80,000-year-old marine terrace, which has been uplifted a few meters above sea level. The cave developed along a fault line, which is clearly visible in the roof of the cave. Given the large size of the cave, it is believed to hold evidence not only of the Lone Woman’s 18 years of occupation, but also of previous occupation perhaps going back to the original inhabitants of the island. The cave is in an ideal location on an island that has extreme weather conditions, so it seems likely that the earliest settlers would have found the cave and occupied it from the very earliest times. The deposits in the cave are completely undisturbed and were laid down in what appears to be a season-by-season record of occupation. This record has the potential to reveal the entire ecological history of the island during historic times, as well as serving as a cap providing incredible preservation of the prehistoric deposits beneath. Future work in the cave is likely to answer many of the outstanding questions, including the timing of the original occupation of the island and how the Lone Woman survived her 18 years of isolation. A detailed report of findings to date is in process. 2 NEWS AND NOTES Figure 1. California State University, Los Angeles field crew in front of the cave. Students moved an estimated 40,000 buckets of sand to expose the cave. From left to right: Jessica Colston, Jennie Allen, Lisa Thomas-Barnett, René Vellanoweth, Emily Whistler, Steve Schwartz, Amira Ainis, Richard Guttenberg, and Brendon Greenaway (back). (Photograph courtesy of Bill Kendig). Steven J. Schwartz, Naval Air Warfare Center Weapons Division, Point Mugu (retired)René L. Vellanoweth, California State University, Los Angeles Sands of Time: SCA’s Past Reminiscences of Franklin Fenenga (1917–1994) Compiled and edited by Michael J. Moratto Second Harvest: Some Thoughts about My Father In 1771, a Jesuit priest, Johann Jakob Baegert, described the unusual practice of the Cochimí Indians in Baja California, who seasonally collected all of their excrement during the pitahaya cactus season and later sorted through this, winnowing out undigested seeds which they would roast and grind and then eat “with much joking.” This scenario pretty much describes my own life experience ever since my dad passed away, since several times every year I get a request to dig through my dad’s old stuff to search for some kernel of information he 3 NEWS AND NOTES may have left behind. That is one of the blessings of being the son of one of the patriarchs of American archaeology. My father’s career and influence extended across the country and into many different research domains, such as his interest and research in southeastern folk pottery mentioned by John Foster in his essay below. Because of his diverse interests and life history of experiences, digging into my father’s past is not unrewarding since much of it is related to my own past. My thoughts about my father and his influence on me and my career as a second generation professional archaeologist are obviously different than others simply because he was exactly that—my father. He taught me quite a bit about archaeology, but largely by experiencing it. He was not my professor or some sort of celebrity archaeologist from the golden age of archaeology’s past that I met or studied under. Instead, he was just “Dad.” My father was the oldest of five children. His parents, my Grandpa Bert and Grandma Ruth, also played a large role in my upbringing. Grandpa Bert was a legendary football coach and high school English teacher in St. Louis, Missouri. He has been honored in the Professional Football Hall of Fame and is described at some length in the autobiography of Bob Breog, Hall of Fame Broadcaster for the St. Louis Cardinals (Broeg 1995). My dad was raised in this sporting family which spent its summers in the backwoods of Minnesota, Wisconsin, and elsewhere where his dad ran summer camps for misguided urban youth of that generation. On these excursions, Grandpa Bert was always scouting for football prospects and discovered, among others, both George Gipper and Red Grange. Because my dad’s childhood was spent fishing, hunting, and engaged in other outdoor pursuits, the life of a rugged field archaeologist was attractive to him and explains to a certain extent how I was raised. The fact that he was my father and that he was an active field archaeologist throughout his career provided exceptional opportunities for me to see and experience both archaeology and archaeologists. In the memorial volume prepared for my dad, Moratto (2002:25) described how he involved his family in his fieldwork and this was very true. Consequently, I absorbed quite a bit of knowledge about archaeological excavation strategies and practices without really having ever been specifically taught how to do them. He was also, of course, always around to ask if I had any questions relating to literally anything in the field of anthropology or any other related discipline. Among other things, he was an expert on prehistoric technology and was an excellent flint knapper, introducing me early on to the field of lithic technology. One of my early memories from my own archaeological career when I was about six years old involves me discovering and collecting what turned out to be a broken Paleoindian point when I was out exploring while the archaeological crew was busy excavating. 4 NEWS AND NOTES Later, when I showed off my stone artifact, everyone got very excited and wanted to know where I had found it. The next day when we went to look, everything had changed because a herd of cattle had passed through and altered the ground. I was very bothered by the fact that I was unable to relocate the exact find spot. I never forgot it, and am sure that event taught me an important archaeological lesson. Space does not permit, but I could recount other similar events of my childhood that must have had direct consequences on my adult life as an archaeologist. Our family name is relatively unusual and is often the source of questions. It also is open to mischievous linguistic manipulation. My dad was very proud of his ethnic heritage, where family tradition attributes the name Fenenga to the great mythic Frisian King Finn who appears in the Beowulf epic. The “n” sound in Finn would be pronounced twice, as in “Finin.” With the historically later rise in peripheral vowels spoken in both English and Frisian, Finin becomes Fenen. Fenenga translates as “son of Fenen” in Frisian. Anyway, one’s ethnic heritage was the source of continual kidding among my dad and his friends and colleagues. This behavior is forever preserved in Fritz Riddell’s (2001:19) description of his first encounter with Frank, whom he described as not being Italian or Latino, but “pink!” This theme is present in correspondence and other documents in his archives. Robert Heizer continuously refers to him as “Finegan” or some similar ethnic variation on reprints of his articles he gave my dad. On one of Clem Meighan’s reprints, he thanks my dad with a personal note that reads: “To Frank Fenenga, who, due to his natural inheritance of Dutch stubbornness, was able to teach me a few things about archeology.” Frisians, although they reside in Holland, are not Dutch and would be insulted at this suggestion. Unlike my four sisters, I carry the family name and therefore the responsibility of preserving historical traditions and upholding our family honor. This will now pass on to my two sons. We are not the only Fenengas in the country or even in the state. My cousin Chip Fenenga is a teacher and championship-winning girls’ volleyball coach at Santa Inez High School. He won a Governor’s Historic Preservation Award several years ago for his work with students using GIS technology to map the local Mission aqueduct system. He is the son of my dad’s younger brother Gerrit (my Uncle Gerry), who worked for my dad on several occasions, including the excavations at CA-SON-299 at Bodega Bay. As noted, to my dad, archaeology was a family affair and almost every summer of my life was spent on archaeological projects. The nature of these varied as his employment changed through my lifetime. My father and 5 NEWS AND NOTES mother, Barbara, had five children. I am the only boy and I am the middle child. My sisters, Lynn, Robin, Laurel, and Cornelia, all grew up in the same environment that I did, and all have many memories from archaeological projects. My oldest sister, Lynn, was born before World War II, and she remembers and tells stories about “Uncle Clammy” (Meighan) and Dave Fredrickson, who was quite a character in his “beatnik” days when they worked at Lake Isabella and other early reservoir projects. It is said that when I was born my dad was absolutely thrilled and announced that now he “had everything!” He later told me that I was a great baby, but I progressively went downhill from there. I was born in Nebraska while my dad was a professor at the University and an employee of the Smithsonian Institution. At that time, he was a “dam archaeologist” whose fieldwork was involved with the River Basin Surveys. I was taken on my first field expedition to Buffalo Pasture, South Dakota, when I was six months old. I don’t remember much from that project, but do from many others that occurred as I grew older. Sometimes our whole family would go on these excursions, but I often went alone with my dad, while Mom and my sisters stayed home. Eventually my dad changed jobs and when I was eight or nine years old we moved to Georgia. There he was Director of the Georgia Historical Commission, a position somewhat like being head of the Cultural Resources section of the Department of Parks and Recreation in California. In that job, he managed a series of state parks that included the Mississippian mound complex at the site of Etowah, a pre-Revolutionary War tavern, the doctor’s office where anesthesia was first used, and other historically important sites. While in Georgia, he conducted two major projects that resulted in new historical parks; both of these were places I spent time helping with some of the fieldwork and lab sorting of archaeological specimens. These include the site of a sunken Confederate Ironclad warship (the Muscogee) and the site of New Echota in northwest Georgia. The latter was the location chosen for the relocation of the Cherokee of Tennessee prior to their eventual removal to Oklahoma on the infamous “Trail of Tears” march. I remember helping sort through the screens for lead printer’s type with letters of Sequoya’s Cherokee alphabet on them when Dad excavated the site of the print shop prior to its reconstruction for the State Park at New Echota. It turns out many years later that my wife is descended from John Ross, the President of the Cherokee Nation at that time and a resident of New Echota. This means my own two boys, Jacob and Michael, are descendants of people who occupied an archaeological site my father excavated and I once worked on. They also are descendants of an earlier Cherokee chief, who resided at Ochota in Tennessee, named Oconostota (Ground Hog 6 NEWS AND NOTES Sausage). He was historically very significant during the period immediately preceding the Revolutionary War. I mention him because his remains were discovered during excavations by archaeologists at the site of Ochota during the TVA Projects (King 1979; King and Olinger 1972:222–228, Figures 3 and 4) and, due to historical accident, I think I am one of the few archaeologists who can commiserate with the distraught Native American who asks “why don’t you archaeologists dig up your own grandfather?” My professional career in archaeology began in the summer of 1967 when my dad hired me on the crew when he excavated at CA-SJO-17 on Mormon Slough near Stockton. Our family had moved to California the previous year. He had taken a teaching position on the faculty of California State University, Long Beach, and returned to California archaeology. That project was my introduction to California archaeology, as well as to the Central Valley and valley fever (Coccidioidomycosis). The site where we excavated was a Middle Period cemetery and it was jam-packed with burials. My first job was to clear the poison oak off the site so that none of the students would be exposed. A highlight of that field season was when the entire crew disappeared for the weekend to go to the Monterey Pop Festival. Since I was only 15, I did not attend. The following year, and for many years after, we went to Madera County every summer to work on the Hidden Reservoir Project on the Fresno River. It was there that I began to really be interested in archaeology, but not so much because of my father as one would expect. Instead, it was at the neighboring Buchanan Reservoir Project where I met Tom King and served as his Crew Chief for excavations he conducted for his doctoral dissertation that really provided the catalyst for my career choice. That project was remarkable in a number of respects, one of them being the large and diverse crew which consisted of an army of volunteers Tom had recruited from many of the academic institutions in California. There I met and consorted with a full spectrum of California archaeologists. I spent quite a bit of time there discussing various theoretical issues in California, especially those related to Tom’s research into the origins of political differentiation in the southern Sierra foothills. This work was closely linked to my own research at Hidden Reservoir, which was focused on the origin and function of dichotomous social organization in this area. Those were exciting times. Although I had been involved in “salvage archaeology” my whole life, this is where I really became cognizant of the environmental crisis facing the archaeological record. It was this issue that made me choose to continue to practice archaeology, rather than pursue other options. I believe I am the first second generation full-time California archaeologist. I know a number of other second generation archaeologists, but none with 7 NEWS AND NOTES California parents. I also know lots of children of archaeologists who chose not to continue in the footsteps of their parents, or participated in archaeological projects but later went on to other careers. My father did not encourage me to become an archaeologist, in fact he told me that it was a hard way to make a living. On the other hand, he did not discourage me, either. My connection with him provided experience, opportunities, and linkage with the professional archaeological community. It also provided me access to his remarkable library, of which I took full advantage. My dad was very cautious about employing me on his projects because of the potential conflict of nepotism. For this reason, I have largely made my own career in archaeology by demonstrating my own abilities rather than relying on my family name. I don’t know why, but my father was not especially helpful to me with my own research in archaeology. A good example of this is my work with the early chipped stone crescents. I have discussed this in my publication with Albert Mohr (Mohr and Fenenga 2010). Although Dad had been consulted by Mohr about crescents in the 1940s and was very close with Fritz Riddell who collaborated with Mohr, he never mentioned to me that they had once studied crescents and had compiled a large data base in the process. I know he read a draft of my 1984 paper because I now have his copy with his editorial comments, but he never mentioned or discussed Mohr in that context. Another example of his apparent disinterest was his treatment of my work on the Hidden Reservoir Project. At that time, I was interested in the origin and function of dichotomous social organization as it was found in the foothill Miwok and Yokuts tribes. I believed then, and still do today, that this form of social organization provides one of the organizing principles of the archaeological record of the Sierra foothills wherever it occurred. Neither he nor Bob Heizer, who I also discussed this with on a separate occasion, seemed remotely interested in this subject. I am very proud of my father, and he was of me. He was a generous, loving, and understanding father at home. I do not ever recall him being dishonest or untruthful, and he rarely ever had a disparaging word about anyone. He was always upbeat and happy and ready to discuss anything. He was fun to be around and was always up to something interesting. His house was always open to visitors, and there was a constant stream of these. Some of his students were regular guests who it seemed almost lived with us. In his life, he made many contributions to the discipline of archaeology, some of which are today unrecognized, yet used by all of us who practice archaeology. For example, he was the creator of the trinomial site identification system and of archaeological site record forms. He was not a braggart, however, and when he has acknowledged his contributions, rarely took credit (e.g. Fenenga 1984:23). At his 8 NEWS AND NOTES retirement, he characterized his life and remarkable career as a result of “serendipity,” implying that his discoveries and accomplishments were made by fortuitous accident. I suppose I am one of those accidents. As I write this, I am reminded that we do not get to choose our parents, but I don’t have much to complain about. References Cited Broeg, Bob 1995 Bob Broeg: Memories of a Hall of Fame Sportswriter. Sports Publishing, LLC, New York, New York. Fenenga, Franklin 1984 Franklin Fenenga. In Roundtable Discussion: Some Thoughts on California Archaeology: An Historical Perspective, Francis A. (Fritz) Riddell, Session Chairman. Society for California Archaeology Occasional Papers 4:21–24 1 King, Duane H. 1979 Oconostota’s Grave: Archaeologists Uncover the Great Warrior of Chota. Early Man, Magazine of Modern Archaeology, Summer 1979:17–21. Northwestern Archaeology, Evanston, Illinois. 2 King, Duane H., and Danny E. Olinger 1972 Oconostota. American Antiquity 37:222–228. Mohr, Albert, and Gerrit L. Fenenga 2010 Chipped Crescentic Stones from California. In A Riddle Wrapped in a Mystery Inside an Enigma: Three Studies of Chipped Stone Crescents from California, edited by Gerrit L. Fenenga, and Jerry Hopkins, Contributions of the Tulare Lake Archaeological Research Group 5. Coyote Press, Salinas, California. Moratto, Michael J. 2002 Culture History of the New Melones Reservoir, Calaveras and Tuolumne Counties, California. In Essays in California Archaeology: A Memorial to Franklin Fenenga edited by William J. Wallace, and Francis A. Riddell Contributions of the University of California Archaeological Research Facility 60:25–54. Berkeley. 3 Riddell, Francis A. 2001 As It Was, Part I. Newsletter of the Society for California 35(4):16–20. Gerrit L. Fenenga, California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection (CALFIRE) A Great Mentor and Good Friend My first and only class with Frank was “Indians of California.” His knowledge of the topic was extensive and he needed no notes. Frank had a great voice and was a wonderful story teller. His lectures, as he strode back and forth smoking a cigarillo, had everyone enthralled. Especially notable were his stories of when he and his young wife and infant lived with the Yurok of the Northwest Coast. Because it was so damp, the baby’s diapers were never dry and the 9 NEWS AND NOTES child suffered from severe diaper rash. The Yurok women took pity and gave them an openwork woven baby carrier with shredded cedar bark stuffed into the drainage compartment under the seat. This eliminated the need for diapers and the rash soon healed. In addition to the class, most of what I learned from Frank was in the field and at his famous student parties. He was a mentor to all of his students and set an example that we all aspired to emulate. One aspect of his character that stands out to me was his loyalty and strong support for his students. He would never say anything bad about anybody, even though some might have deserved it. Although I had not started my graduate studies at UC Riverside, Frank gave me the opportunity to direct a dig at a site to be inundated by the Corps of Engineers’ Hidden Reservoir (now Hensley Lake) project in Madera County. My crew was my fellow students. We kept detailed journals in addition to our excavation forms, following Frank’s advice regarding the importance of field notes: “What you observe while excavating will never be seen again.” My fellow students frequently used the journals to tell me how they thought we should be doing things. They were probably right, but I was the one responsible for writing the report and I was following Frank’s excavation instructions because I didn’t want to let him down. I wish I had taken graduate level classes from Frank because, due to my inexperience, the report I prepared was mostly descriptive and lacked the interpretation he was hoping I would provide. Now I can look at that report and see many opportunities for interpretation—something I should do in retirement. I know he would like that. Frank not only wrote numerous letters of recommendation to get me into graduate school, he wrote letters of support when I was applying for teaching jobs. When I was hired by California State University, Los Angeles (CSULA), and taught Indians of California, the notes I had taken earlier in his class were invaluable. Frank had given me the Kroeber map of California Indian territories and linguistic groups that he had mounted on cardboard and used in that class years before. That map is still in use at CSULA. He also volunteered to give a guest lecture to my students. Frank was a great mentor and good friend, not just to me but to the hundreds of students that he taught and influenced. His last words to me were, “I have done everything I wanted to do in life and I have no regrets.” I have tried to emulate his love of archaeology, respect for California Indians, and most of all, the support and inspiration he gave his students. 10 NEWS AND NOTES Patricia Martz Emerita Professor, Department of Anthropology, California State University, Los Angeles “Over-Worked and Under-Loved,” Franklin and Dave It was my fortune to know Franklin Fenenga as a professor at Cal State Long Beach. In those days, Long Beach had a robust Anthropology Department and a full four-field approach to MA training. Frank was the anchor of the archaeology group. He served on practically everyone’s committee and helped many students over the years find their way in anthropology. He gave freely of his time and energy. Bill Wallace called him “everyone’s favorite archaeologist,” and so he was. These days it’s common to judge political candidates by the measure, “which one you’d most like to have a beer with.” For archaeologists of his era, Frank would win that title hands down. Not only would he tell the most interesting stories, he’d probably spring for the libations. His classroom teaching style was not what set him apart. He was very detailed and particularistic in the formal setting, but far more focused in one-on-one mentoring that seems to have disappeared from today’s academe. When I would see him after an absence of some time, I’d ask how he was. He always gave the same response: “over-worked, and under-loved.” Frank enjoyed engaging students, challenging them, and encouraging all to explore modern or ancient themes intertwined with archaeology or anthropology. He wanted his students to turn over every metaphorical rock to see its wider implications. Frank Fenenga’s intellectual curiosity knew few bounds. He was interested in the past. Categories of historic versus prehistoric were of little use to Frank. He saw the big picture of human experience as it could be interpreted from shattered fragments of “things forgotten.” He enjoyed talking about any anthropological or archaeological subject, and he had a commanding grasp of the published literature. Plus, he made it fun. I left Long Beach in 1973 for Arizona but returned regularly to visit him and began to notice an alarming trend. Frank was a collector of ethnographic items and fine art pieces. His passion became an obsession over time. The boxes and books piled up in his home until there was little room for visitors. He may have been the first archaeological hoarder, although there was no such term in those days. Finally, his garage door could not be shut and collectables spilled out into the driveway. This wasn’t regular junk; it was anthropological junk, some of it unique and incredibly valuable. One day while visiting Frank and discussing archaeology, I noticed two recently acquired large ceramic vessels in the living room. “Those are 11 NEWS AND NOTES alkaline-glazed stoneware pots from the Edgefield district of South Carolina,” said Frank. Each was inscribed with verse and signed. I examined the signature “Dave” in a neat cursive script. “So who was Dave?” I asked. Frank got me a beer and we settled in to discuss Dave, the Slave Potter. Dave was born about 1801 and became the country’s foremost enslaved potter. Over time, he was bought and sold by the Drake, Gibbs, Miles, and Landrum families in southern South Carolina, where he worked in pottery factories in the Edgefield District. When emancipated, he took the name David Drake, presumably after the owner who first taught him to make pots. Dave’s earliest signed work dates to 1834 and there are now more than 100 known examples that bear his mark and date of manufacture. His pottery is notable for its symmetry and grace as well as its utilitarian character. Many of Dave’s pots range from 25 to 40 gallons in size, and it is thought that he must have been very strong to manipulate such a clay mass while kicking a treadle wheel. What is really remarkable, Frank explained, was that Dave added verse and his name to his work. The education of slaves was forbidden at the time in South Carolina, and Dave’s signed messages proclaim his ability to read and write. His verses speak simply of his experience and provide powerful insight into his world. For example, when many of his relatives were moved south to Louisiana with their owners, Dave expressed this lament: I wonder where is all my relation friendship to all—and, every nation August 16, 1857 Gerrit Fenenga has kindly helped augment my feeble recollection from those days. He identified the two Dave pots I saw in Frank’s house by their verse and provided details of them. From Leonard Todd’s (2008) masterful book on the subject, I now know more about them. One of the pots I saw that day is a wide-mouthed jar with broad shoulders made for Lewis Miles at the Stony Bluff pottery works (Todd 2008:245). It has the “drippy” ash-based alkaline glaze perfected in the Edgefield District. It bears Dave’s signature and the date May 3, 1859. This vessel resides today in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. The following couplet is inscribed Good for lard or holding fresh meats= blest we were when peter saw the folded sheets 12 NEWS AND NOTES Todd suggests this message may refer to John 20:6–7 in which Peter discovers Jesus’ tomb is empty except for the linens. Some weeks before the pot was made, the death of Dr. Abner Landrum, an influential owner of Dave, may have been his Easter-time inspiration. Figure 2 shows a beautifully symmetrical jar with a flat base and lug handles. The scholar Jill Koverman has described it as “Dave’s most perfectly formed vessel” (Todd 2008:249). It also has the distinction of being Dave’s last known inscription, written during the Civil War. It’s now housed in the Smithsonian Institution. Dave’s inscription reads: I, made this jar, all of cross If, you don’t repent, you will be, lost Figure 2. A storage jar with two slab handles, signed by Dave and inscribed with the date May 3, 1862. It measures 20 inches in height. (Drawing by the author). 13 NEWS AND NOTES Frank felt a connection with the works of Dave, and was inspired to see the archaeological remains where they were created. In the late 1960s, he took the family, including Gerrit, to explore the Edgefield pottery works and collected remnants of the kiln debris. The world now recognizes Dave as a master craftsman whose work imparts a message of hope and perseverance. Franklin Fenenga recognized the meaning of Dave’s work many decades earlier. He acquired and preserved two of Dave’s better pots and made sure their messages will be seen by future generations. Frank and Dave: “Over-worked” they both might have been, but “underloved?” Not a chance! Reference Cited Todd, Leonard 2008 Carolina Clay: The Life and Legend of the Slave Potter DAVE. W. W. Norton & Company, New York. John W. Foster, Manager of Archaeology and History, California State Parks (ret.) A Colorful Person I first knew Frank Fenenga as a legend from the many stories about him told by other archaeologists. He was a colorful person, a person worth knowing. I became good friends with Frank during the time he was teaching at Long Beach State. Although we served on committees together and met at professional meetings, I never had the experience of working with Frank in the field. Frank was a popular and very good teacher. But what impressed me most was his remarkable memory and his quantity of knowledge of California archaeology and archaeologists. He loved telling stories, all of which he shared with his students and colleagues. Many of us miss him still. Claude N. Warren, Distinguished Professor Emeritus, University of Nevada, Las Vegas Frank Fenenga Drives On Franklin Fenenga was a close friend and mentor, a gifted man of many talents. He was an outstanding teacher, an entertaining raconteur with a great sense of humor, and a Socratic thinker. Frank was energetic and influential, persuasive and compassionate. A kind and gentle man, he was polite, insightful, and 14 NEWS AND NOTES generous to a fault. Upbeat, positive, and complimentary, Fenenga considered it his duty to introduce younger archaeologists to each other and to diminish the conflicts and jealousies that inevitably arose between them. He loved everybody, and everybody loved him. Frank had more friends and fewer enemies than just about anyone else in his field. Fenenga was born on the Rosebud Sioux reservation, and formed his lifelong appreciation for, and understanding of, American Indian cultures while learning to walk. He helped create modern archaeology in three different parts of North America: the High Plains, the Southeast, and California. Frank came to know every inch of his adoptive state. He could tell you what Indian group lived just about anywhere in California, and also recite the local history, summarize the archaeological research conducted there from earliest to latest, and put you in touch with whoever might be working there at the moment or thinking about working there in the future. A little-known aspect of Frank’s life was his World War II military service, beginning in 1943 in the U.S. Marine Corps. Earlier, Frank had been one of several civilian anthropological advisors to the Marines who suggested that Native American radiomen be recruited so that their messages over the airwaves would be unintelligible to the Japanese. The result was, eventually, the famous USMC Navajo Code Talkers. Two years later, after earning his B.A. at Berkeley, when asked if he would volunteer, Fenenga was directly commissioned as an officer. This was within a specialty he always swore was an oxymoron: military intelligence. At the Monterey Language School, Frank learned enough Japanese to interpret intercepted messages and earn several promotions. His top secret work precluded his being sent off to the Pacific for combat. Fenenga ended the war as a U.S.M.C.R. Intelligence Colonel. Frank Fenenga was the world’s worst driver, a true hazard of the California highways and byways. He triggered nervous jokes about the need for skulls and crossed bones on his car’s doors and smelling salts for first-time passengers. I always wrestled the wheel away from him to prevent the near-misses, the nosefirst, wrong-way ventures down one-way streets, and the single-finger salutes of other drivers, inevitable whenever he was in the driver’s seat. Frank’s problem was self-distraction. He always felt compelled to talk while he drove, and since his conversations on any subject were always so animated and involved, he couldn’t help but lose himself in the subject matter of the moment. Fenenga would forget where he was, oblivious to other drivers piloting two-ton missiles towards his blue Swedish deathmobile. While driving, he transported himself into his own intellectual otherworld, launching into discussions of Yurok communal fishing, Sierra foothill pictographs, Fremont figurines, catlinite pipe 15 NEWS AND NOTES variations, or southeastern rites of passage of adolescent ritual poisoning. One of the best-read anthropologists ever, his memory was phenomenal. Unfortunately, Frank just couldn’t remember to drive safely. A quarter century ago, I used to visit Fenenga at his home at least once a week, often more frequently. His door was always open, even after night classes ending at 10 p.m. or later. Long after most of our students were sawing wood and the roosters were on their perches, the latest academic outrage or most recent archaeological discovery would be grist for our conversational mill. We would stay up talking, and sometimes carousing, until two or three in the morning. Occasionally Frank would say, “don’t go just yet,” and I would be treated to one of his most secret nocturnal activities, which only now can be revealed. He would compose himself, then pick up the telephone, holding the receiver outwards, and make a crank call to one of the only two persons on the planet he couldn’t tolerate. Inevitably, the person on the other end of the line would take the bait, asking who it was, but Frank never made a sound. No heavy breathing, no characteristic nasal wheezing, no profanity, no asking if the other person had Prince Albert in a can … just uncharacteristic silence, until you heard the other party coming unglued over the line. Frank, beaming, would then hang up, his day now perfect and complete. Late in life, Frank became addicted to garage sales. He and Barbara would prowl through California in his dirty blue Volvo station wagon on those weekends he was not doing archaeology, looking for treasure. They would snap up Navajo blankets for as little as two dollars, Mono baskets for a buck, and handforged Mexican spurs for 50 cents. Frank and Barbara’s home in Long Beach became a folk art and ethnographic museum, crammed with Pennsylvania Dutch kitchenware, Hopi Kachinas, over 200 nonfunctional fly-fishing rods, and dozens of hand-carved duck decoys. Buried beneath Fenenga’s garage sale loot, in every room, were the bookshelves. Each bookcase was crammed full, the books so tight that, like potato chips, you couldn’t take just one. Books were also piled flat on just about every visible surface, small towers of ethnographic and archaeological literature you wended your way through and around as if you were a Gee Bee at the Reno Air Races, making turns around the pylons. Franklin Fenenga and Robert F. Heizer (1915–1979) became friends and collaborators during their earliest years together in the Golden State. In the mid-1930s, they invented what would become modern California archaeology under the tutelage of their teacher, Jeremiah B. Lillard of Sacramento Junior College, publishing the seminal works on that subject by the decade’s end. The two were good enough friends that Fenenga dated Heizer’s sister, and 16 NEWS AND NOTES Frank spent a summer in Nevada working in one of the Heizer family mines near Lovelock alongside Sweet Old Bob. Frank’s split with his Depression-era buddy Robert F. Heizer came as a result of World War II, after which many of the pre-war Berkeley students, now veterans, were reunited on campus. Some of these vets still wore their uniforms. The uniforms and, in fact, the military service, were ridiculed by Heizer who had dodged military service during the war by taking a supposedly “essential” defense job in the Kaiser Shipyard in Richmond, California. Heizer told the volunteers and draftees who went off to war that he had outsmarted them by pretending to work down in the steel hulls of ships under construction while in fact writing archaeological publications. These veterans, including Fenenga, were still students while he was now a young professor. Such boasting did not sit well at all with former marines such as Fritz Riddell, with badly wounded Clem Meighan, or any of the other Berkeley students, trying to get back on the academic track after the years lost in service to Uncle Sam. Fenenga and his fellow veterans distanced themselves from the former friend who in 1946 became their faculty advisor, and shortly afterwards (1948) became their boss at the California Archaeological Survey. Franklin Fenenga’s first paid job at Berkeley, beginning in 1940, was as A. L. Kroeber’s driver. Kroeber (1876–1960) had almost single-handedly invented anthropology in the western U.S. beginning in 1901. The founding father of California anthropology in 1940 was still sharp as a tack, energetic, and far and away the most important anthropological presence at Berkeley. Only infrequently on campus, he remained the stratospheric superstar of the Department. Kroeber continued to do what he loved best, interview California Indians, obtain word lists, and check and cross-check his notes of 30 to 40 years earlier, sometimes taken from his current informant’s grandparents. As a consequence, he traveled to out-of-the-way places where traditional Indians were still to be found, and Fenenga had the unutterable joy of driving the grand old man, the greatest humanist our state has ever produced, all over California. Frank always said that this was the best and most educational job in the world. He had Kroeber all to himself for hours on end, day after day. While driving the California back roads and highways, Fenenga and Kroeber rehearsed interviews in advance, mapped out the questions to be asked, and reviewed the ethnographic information available for the group to be visited. Afterwards, Kroeber would decompress, checking his notes in the car, mentally organizing his thoughts, and bouncing ideas off Fenenga, his sounding board, to their mutual benefit. 17 NEWS AND NOTES Two generations later, all of us much younger folks whose lives had been endangered as passengers in the Fenengamobile, still marvel at the cosmic inappropriateness of Frank, the world’s most inattentive driver, grotesquely miscast as Kroeber’s chauffeur. In this capacity, Frank was the squarest peg in the roundest possible hole. One wrong turn into oncoming traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge, or off the shoulder into the Klamath River, and Franklin Fenenga would have gone down in history as the man who had killed A. L. Kroeber. Surely a benign and merciful automotive deity was at work during those years, with the full-time obligation of keeping Frank’s tires on the correct side of the road while he and Kroeber unleashed their intellects throughout the length and breadth of California. All who knew Frank, myself included, would like to believe that somewhere, off in the mists of the North Coast Ranges, or up on a lonely starlit mesa above the Colorado River, Frank is still driving Kroeber on their timeless search for one more glimpse of the California that used to be. Brian Dervin Dillon, Consulting Archaeologist 18 Authors Queries Journal: California Archaeology Paper: CAL_5_2_NEWSNOTES Article title: Lone Woman’s Cave Found on San Nicolas Island Dear Author During the preparation of your manuscript for publication, the questions listed below have arisen. Please attend to these matters and return this form with your proof. Many thanks for your assistance Query Reference Query 1 Please provide publisher’s name and place of publication in Fenenga (1984). Department of Anthropology, California State University, Fullerton. 2 Please provide volume number in King (1979). 3 Please provide publisher’s name in Moratto (2002). University of California. Remarks