[meteorite-list] A Rock in a Hard Place (Willamette Meteorite)

From: Ron Baalke <baalke_at_meteoritecentral.com>
Date: Thu Apr 22 09:54:07 2004
Message-ID: <200202210044.QAA02503_at_zagami.jpl.nasa.gov>

http://www.msnbc.com/news/711172.asp

A Rock in a Hard Place
 
Once again, the Willamette Meteorite is caught up in scandal

NEWSWEEK WEB EXCLUSIVE
By Gersh Kuntzman

Feb. 19 - If you ask me, it doesn't even sound like such a good
trade.

   BACK IN 1998, the American Museum of Natural History hacked a
25-pound chunk and a smaller nub off its famed Willamette Meteorite
and traded it for a mere 20-ounce piece of Mars.
   That's it. No draft picks. No cash. No "meteorite to be named
later." Just the 20-ounce Martian pebble. Think about it: Twenty ounces
of Mars (Mars! It's so close that it's practically the Hamptons!) for
more than 25 pounds of a rock that may date back to the beginnings of
time? That's the meteorological equivalent of Nolan Ryan for Jim
Fregosi.
   That dusty deal might never have become widely known except
that last week, a sharp reporter named Richard Hill of the Oregonian
newspaper reported that a private meteorite collector named Darryl Pitt
was about to auction off a couple of slivers of the Willamette Meteorite.
   When Hill asked the tough questions-something along the lines of
"Where did you get your Willamette pieces?"-Pitt told him about the
four-year-old Mars-for-meteorite deal. And that's when all hell-or at
least a big break for underworked reporters on both coasts-broke loose.
   This is the Willamette Meteorite, after all, a national treasure
known to tens of millions of schoolchildren who have been marched
through the Museum of Natural History over the years and told how
this 15-ton mass of iron and nickel crashed into Canada millions of
years ago and was carried by glaciers to Oregon, where it supposedly
became a sacred relic to the Native American tribes living there. The
rock was "discovered" by the white man in 1905 and was later sold to a
rich New Yorker who donated it to the museum and spirited it out of
Oregon forever.
   Descendents of the Clackamas Indians have been trying to get
their rock back for years. Two years ago, in a move that sent
shockwaves through virtually no one except the small community of
meteorite collectors, the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde asked the
American Museum of Natural History to return the meteorite on the
grounds that it was a sacred object covered under federal law. The
museum responded by suing the tribe, claiming that the meteorite was
"a natural feature of the landscape rather than a ceremonial object." The
tribe countersued on the grounds that their lawyers needed some work.
   In the end, the tribe settled with the museum for a mere pittance
that consisted of some paid museum internships for tribal teens, a
plaque installed near the meteorite that would explain its supposed
spiritual connection to the native people and the right to hold an annual
religious ceremony at the meteorite.
   Now it finally made sense why Willamette is pronounced like
dammit.
   I called the tribe for a comment and was immediately put on hold
(whoever heard of a tribe that takes your call "in the order it was
received"? Who am I calling here, IBM?). When I finally got tribe
spokesman Brent Merrill on the phone, I first fought off the urge to
question whether anyone named "Brent Merrill" could be a spokesman
for an Indian tribe and then asked him about last year's religious
ceremony.
   "It was very moving," said Merrill. "There is definitely some
spiritual power given off by that meteorite. We all felt it."
   Nonetheless, Merrill said the tribe was so satisfied by the paid
internships and the annual access that it no longer even wants the rock
back. That bothered me, considering how vehemently the tribe had once
demanded the return of the meteorite. Now, the meteorite doesn't even
earn a mention on the tribe's Web site, which is much more concerned
with details of a recent casino expansion project than staking a spiritual
claim.
   But that hasn't stopped everyone else from weighing in. Kathryn
Harrison, a former chairwoman of the Grand Ronde (check her out
painting the casino's new "non-smoking" area), told the New York
Times that the auction was no different from "someone want[ing] to
auction off a crucifix, one of the holy statues out of the Catholic Church
or something like that."
   And the editorial page of the Oregonian, which has fanned the
flames of the "Return the Rock" rebellion, slammed the museum for
"disgraceful stewardship" of the meteorite and "profiteering" from its
"desecration."
   "If we had our way," the editorial continued, "it would be heading
back on the next westbound freight train." (I won't quibble with the
Oregonians' emotions, but I'm duty bound to report that there is no
freight train that goes from Manhattan to Portland anymore.)
   Now, you may not know this, but I pride myself on being aware of
all the latest meteorite developments, yet I could not help but be
stunned by what was going on-especially since I hadn't even known
that the museum had circumcised its meteorite and traded it for a piece
of Mars smaller than a Mars bar.
   So I rushed right over to the Natural History Museum to conduct
one of my renowned fact-finding tours (and enjoy the unbelievable hot
chocolate they serve at a little French restaurant around the corner-and
if you think I'm giving you the name, forget it).
   When I got to the museum, I didn't feel the power that Merrill
spoke of, but I did feel hungry. With its craggy surface, the
Viagra-shaped meteorite resembles a large English muffin, especially
that brand with all the nooks and crannies that hold the melted butter.
Mmm, butter.
   And then I saw it: Almost out of view on the top of the meteorite,
is a smooth, polished scar that marks the spot where the 25-pound
chunk was ruthlessly amputated. Seeing the desecration made me angry
at the museum's much-vaunted scientists. They had been given a great
cosmic souvenir and what did they do with it? They cut off a hunk and
re-gifted it!
   But I was angry at the tribe, too. Just two years ago, the Grand
Ronde showed some pluck by demanding back their rock, only to back
down for a few trinkets from the museum. A once-proud Indian tribe
was now comprised of sell-outs and lapdogs.
   I called the museum's provost of science Michael Novacek, who,
after dodging my relentless questioning about the meaning of the word
"provost," explained that meteorite horse-trading is "common" and that
the museum saw its behavior as a necessarily part of scientific study,
not desecration.
   "Diversifying our meteorite collection is really important," Novacek
said. "The more meteorite samples we have, the wider variety of
information we can gather about the origin of our solar system."
   So Darryl Pitt gets his $11,000 from the auction, the museum gets
its sliver of Mars and the tribe gets a small plaque.
   Like I said, it doesn't sound to me like a good trade at all.

  -------------------------

Gersh Kuntzman is also a columnist for The New York Post. His Web
site is at http://www.gersh.tv
Received on Wed 20 Feb 2002 07:44:57 PM PST