7. Richard Owen & Gideon Mantell

Here, to you, faithful reader, I must confess that I have a certain mystical holding when it comes to the realm of ideas. I tend to believe that ideas are something more concrete than mere electronic impulses zipping through brain synapses. This conviction is less philosophical (say, in the Platonic sense) and much more emotional. When humans take on a specific idea, it more frequently occurs to me that it is the human that is transforming themselves into the image of the idea, rather than the person choosing a new flavor of value. Ideas are pod people: alien beings that have the power to transform us into something else entire.

With this viewpoint then, look keenly: JEALOUSY. 

The most substantial example of jealousy's image first appeared to me in the form of the brilliant film, Amadeus. Though we've not the time to give Amadeus its due, the plot of the film revolves around Antonio Salieri's autobiography. Salieri happens to be a composer, and unfortunately for the scorned soul, a contemporary of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Poor Salieri is gifted enough to fully recognize Mozart's musical genius, but has not the ability himself to compose such beauty. The divide Salieri sees between himself and the boy wonder drives him to madness… but first, to Maiden Jealousy.

However poetic Amadeus is as a story, it remains only this; a fairy tale. There was no Salieri salivating over Mozart's ink stains. This is myth, and nothing more. And for that reason we turn our attention to a historical account of intrigue and moral squalor. The tale of Richard Owen and Gideon Mantell is a pathetic one when viewed from the end backwards -- but so is every dead pod person…

It starts with revelation. A bang. A wonderment of wonderments! The earth, the very soil below our feet, hides monstrous secrets. We are in the late 18th/early 19th century, and the discovery of dinosaurs is at hand.

Let's pause here for just a moment. Man has always known of monsters. Our imaginations did not suddenly begin in the twentieth century. But I cannot imagine that feeling that those intrepid geologists felt when they first found that our dreams have all been realized. Monsters did live. Please recall that besides your Saint George and the Dragonesque stories, no one in the last few millennia had awareness of dinosaurs. It was news to everyone.

A young doctor named Gideon Mantell, after hearing about the monstrous crocodile bones Mary Anning had found (another person who deserves her own post), became intrigued by the stuff he could potentially unearth in his own backyard near Sussex, England. Mantell, over the course of many years, began stocking his house with various pieces of bone and debris salvaged out of time by the young doctor. One would imagine that all this cruddy dust and rock stuff would irritate Mantell's wife (and surely it did, as we'll soon find out), but in fact it was his wife that made the first historic find of their lives. She found several teeth, the likes of which had never been seen before.

Now, the culture the Mantell's were born into was one of English gentlemanliness. Geology was a sport for gentlemen. Mantell, being a doctor, needed to use his firm societal footing to gain entrance into the geology club for top-hatted men. The problem was that Mantell didn't just want to be a geologist on the side, as a hobby. He wanted to settle down and start a meager geology family of love and companionship. This wasn't a part-time obsession. As the years went by, Mantell's digging expeditions were growing too expensive, so he searched for a way to open up his income stream. He thought he could open up his house of bones and rocks to tourists… only to be reminded that that was not the type of thing gentlemen did. Subsequently, he gave the tours for free.

So, these new bones were now being connected to an assortment of skeletons that were looking to form a monstrous creature of length and girth. Mantell noticed that the teeth seemed similar to that of an iguana, so he came up with the name Iguanasaurus for his newly discovered creature. Unfortunately, this is when our villain enters into the game.

Young Richard

Young Gideon

 None of my reading led my to answer the question of what it was exactly about Gideon Mantell that irked Richard Owen so, but whatever it was, it never let go (I suspect it was Mantell's proportionally good looks -- I'm guessing that Owen liked his fellow geologists to be bug-eyed and bald as he was). For many a-year, Owen stood between Mantell and history by assuring onlookers that the teeth he found was nothing more than that of some random rhinoceros.

Eventually, the Iguanasaurus was recognized as a new species, and would come down in history to be known as the Iguanodon. But Owen would not stop he harassment. Every time Mantell released a paper or announced a new discovery, there was Owen, swooping in to discredit him and his discover. Often, his harassments would serve the purpose of merely postponing Mantell so that Owen could plagiarize him and get the international credit for Mantell's findings.

Old Mantell

Old Owen

 Financial destitution afflicted the Mantell family… but Gideon's obsession had taken over his life, and he refused to let go of his rocks. His wife left him. At every turn Owen mocked and denigrated Mantell's name. He had no family. He had no geological friends. He had no money. Desperate, Mantell offered to sell his collection of specimen to the Natural History Museum in London. The only problem was that Richard Owen was head curator. Knowing Mantell was struggling, Owen darn near robbed the man. 

Soon after, while riding a horse, Mantell slipped and was dragged several miles. His spine was bent crooked for the rest of his life. Owen took great pride in haranguing the senile old hunchback.

Pure geology his only friend, Mantell continued to work until the day he died, publishing many papers despite his enemy's power and cunning. But the physical pain and emotional bullying got the best of Doctor Gideon Mantell. He overdosed on opium in 1844.

Any reasonable rivalry would end there. Owen was no normal parasite. He took Mantell's spine, had it pickled and put on display at the Royal College of Surgeons of England. Mantell's bones stayed on display until it was obliterated in 1969 to make room for more interesting specimens.

As for Owen himself, he had a statue of himself put on display on the main staircase at the Natural History Museum in London. His statue stands robustly above lesser names, such as Charles Darwin and Sir Isaac Newton.  Owen's greatest legacy remains as perhaps the highest honor any 19th century geologist could hope for; he coined the term "Dinosaur".

Long live the king. Jealousy has won her prize.