The Fishy Smiths

by Mike Bruton

  When Margaret was asked in 1986 what his two main character traits were, she answered, ‘His phenomenal memory, and his almost fanatical sense of purpose’. She had written of her husband: ‘Characteristically, not prepared to make do with anything second rate and not prepared to risk circumstances over which he had no control and become a burden to anyone, he took matters into his own hands and ended his life’ (MM Smith, 1969). She also wrote matter-of-factly to Carl Hubbs that ‘… she was not surprised, because he always thought that the best time to die was when a man was in the flush of manhood, before he became a nuisance’ (Hubbs, 1969).

  As William put it in the 1976 SATV documentary, ‘When you’ve built a career on a brain, and the brain goes, there’s nothing left. He wanted to make way for younger people, and he did not want to become a burden on Margaret. He did exactly what he set out to do.’ This last observation succinctly summarises JLB Smith’s life. However, in the end, not even Smith’s formidable will power was enough to reverse the ravages of time. He had already had two minor strokes, the last in 1966, and was feeling desperately tired; it had become obvious that he was losing his lifelong battle with ill health.

  1Professor Brian Allanson, Head of Zoology at Rhodes from 1963–1988, described an incident when JLB, Margaret and Marlin walked into his office unannounced and, after cordial greetings, Smith said to him, ‘Allanson – don’t grow old’. This surprised Brian, as nothing had led up to it, so he replied, ‘Well I cannot do anything about not growing old’, and the Smiths left. Brian, now in his sprightly 90s and living on Leisure Isle in Knysna, still remembers those strange words.

  2Eugène Marais was a long-term morphine addict and suffered from melancholy, insomnia, depression and feelings of isolation. In 1936, deprived of morphine for some days, and depressed after a leading British scientist had plagiarised his research, he borrowed a shotgun on the pretext of killing a snake and shot himself in the chest. The wound was not fatal so Marais put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  3The famous South African herpetologist and Director of the Transvaal Museum, Dr VFM FitzSimons, suffered the same fate: formalin fumes virtually destroyed his eyesight.

  CHAPTER 24

  Lean as biltong

  JLB under the microscope

  SMITH ONCE described himself in rather unflattering terms:

  ‘… a lunatic to whom fish … really is a kind of disease or affliction almost like diabetes where one has to have regular injections to keep going. I am afraid I have been like this since my earliest youth and I see no prospect of ever being cured’ (Gon, 2002).

  This author tried several times to talk objectively to Margaret Smith about JLB’s character but it was a pointless exercise as she regarded him as idyllic, almost godlike, and would never make a negative or even slightly critical or questioning comment about him. To her, everything he did was normal, justified and logical. She accepted his character as it was and adjusted her personality, lifestyle and priorities to fit his needs.

  Keith Thomson (1991), in his book Living Fossil – The Story of the Coelacanth, described JLB:

  ‘… a lean and hard man – as spare in his habits as he was in his body. He arranged his life to be functional, with no luxuries or frills. His hair was cut in a military crew cut, and he cared little about his clothes. He was very careful about his diet, however, for many years alternating days when the only meat he would eat was fish with days when he would eat only fruit and nuts. He was moody and intense. He was probably a difficult colleague, too, but at the same time respected for his drive and dedication. The one thing he was passionate about was fishes, and in this his second wife, Margaret, was his constant companion and fiercest publicist … It was a good partnership, and Smith needed such a partner because most of the time, in his mind at least, the rest of the world was either wrong or contrary, or both.’ 1

  JLB Smith tended to be analytical and judgemental. He was prone to long silences and then sudden outbursts that made it clear that he had been listening to, and had analysed, everything that had been said before by others, and had already reached a conclusion about a particular matter long before the conversation had ended. Carl Hubbs (1968) noted that, ‘Liberally scattered through “Old Fourlegs” are statements suggesting that the author regarded himself as endowed with powers of telepathy and ESP – along with many other indications of an extremely sensitive, strongly introspective man, vibrant with drive’. Shirley Bell (1969) comments, ‘He had long held a firm conviction that he was destined one day to discover some strange and wonderful creature, perhaps even a real sea-serpent’.

  Smith’s undue preoccupation in Old Fourlegs and other publications with detailed descriptions of the frustrations that he experienced during his career is indicative of an acute perceived struggle between himself, the lone scientist, and the world beyond science, which seemed constantly to block his way. He sometimes portrayed himself as a ‘lone ranger’, single-handedly fending off the scientific apathy of the rest of the human race. In truth, there were many other scientists and science administrators in South Africa at the same time, fighting the same battle.

  JLB occasionally – and revealingly – imbued the City of Grahamstown with some of his own traits. In a report to the AGM of the Albany Museum dated 30th March 1954, he stated:

  ‘Grahamstown was no sleepy dorp [town]. It had many characteristics, perhaps the most outstanding of which were that it admired and encouraged hard work and that it equally disliked and got rid of martinets and dictators’ (Rhodes University Archive).

  Not surprisingly for someone of Smith’s loner tendencies and resolute opinions, he was not a keen conference goer, and, the older he became, the less he enjoyed social gatherings. He also did not enjoy international travel to first-world destinations. He attended only one major fish conference in the USA, the ‘First International Conference on Sharks’, organised by the American Institute of Biological Sciences in New Orleans, during a trip in April 1958, where one of the themes was, ‘Methods for repelling shark attacks’. He did not attend any of the annual conferences of the prestigious American Society of Ichthyologists & Herpetologists (ASIH), founded in 1915; nor, throughout his entire career, did he apparently attend any formal international conferences on fish taxonomy or zoogeography.

  He did attend a few museology, zoology and environmental conservation conferences in South Africa, usually at Margaret’s insistence, and his talks were not always on fishes. In a rare address to a South African Museums Association conference in East London in 1955, he was disparaging about the methods of earlier scientists:

  ‘Most of the discoveries in biological science of the past 100 years, especially in Zoology, had been recorded in heavy technical jargon, with unnecessarily complicated terms. This was not only troublesome to scientists but quite beyond the use and understanding of the ordinary man [one of his favourite phrases]. Many so-called biologists supposed to study living matters worked only with dead things in bottles. … The days of these complicated treatises was passing. Almost all science could be made easy to understand by everybody without loss of standard.’

  Smith seemed to be far more comfortable in the company of anglers than scientists, and enjoyed speaking at meetings of angling and underwater clubs. At these meetings he would mingle with the crowd and happily share his knowledge and experience, whereas at scientific conferences he cut a lonely figure and somehow seemed to be insecure, notwithstanding his international renown.

  Nancy Tietz, who attended a conference organised by the National Parks Board in 1964 at which JLB Smith spoke, remembers him as ‘a forceful orator’:

  ‘He was the first speaker next day. Advised what surveys he would do and with his wife would produce a fully illustrated guide to the Fishes of the Tsitsikamma Coast. He said what he had to say, brooked no argument, and then excused himself and Margaret for the rest of the meeting.’

  In contrast, Margaret loved the sociality of conferences and meetings, and assiduously mainta
ined a little ‘black book’ in which she recorded the names, professions and places of abode of everyone she met.

  In Old Fourlegs JLB admits that his social attitude ‘did not always create the most cordial relations’. He had the sort of personality that always made an impact on you, for good or bad; no-one was neutral about him. Decades after he died his ex-colleagues and -students, such as Doug Rivett and Keith Hunt, would become very animated when they spoke about him. Jean Pote stated that he was ‘a very hard taskmaster. He didn’t allow tea breaks; if we wanted tea, it had to be brought to us at our desks, so we could keep working’ (Weinberg, 1999). He also insisted that correspondence should be dealt with while it was still fresh. ‘Letters are like fish. If you leave them more than three days, they begin to smell.’ Nevertheless, Weinberg’s (1999) comment, ‘… until 1960, when, out of consideration for his always fragile health, he stopped travelling altogether and dedicated himself to his work, and to terrorising his staff and pupils’, is overstating the case.

  Allan Heydorn (pers. comm., 2017) summed it up well:

  ‘JLB never took kindly to being distracted from his detail work and could be quite taciturn when he felt that he was being disturbed unnecessarily. That enabled him to do such an incredible amount of work in the development of ichthyology in the Southern African realm. For this reason it was easier for him to ‘isolate’ himself at Rhodes University than it would have been had the Institute been located in Durban or Cape Town. By contrast his live-wire and very sociable wife allowed herself to be distracted far more easily and she could not resist being invited to many meetings which were not really relevant to her field of expertise. I might be wrong, but my impression was that under her directorship, she had to rely on people such as Phil Heemstra to continue with the mission about which JLB was so single-minded. My impression is also that when [Mike Bruton] took over the directorship, [he] had to pull many things together again in order to be able to plot the optimal future course for the Institute.’

  There is no doubt that JLB Smith was eccentric, not only in his later years, but even as a young man. His colonial dress code was perhaps inspired by the apparel worn by George Cory. In the field, and even on holiday in Knysna, he wore practical khaki shirts and shorts, but to the laboratory he almost always wore a thin flannel suit and tie, non-functional apparel for such a practical man, but respectful of the university’s formal dress codes at the time. His hatred for shoes extended to the office too, and he usually wore sandals. He expected his employees to dress properly, be formal and courteous and, most importantly, to be very efficient and punctual.

  During her marriage to JLB Smith, Margaret’s house was very sparse, with few (if any) towels, carpets, curtains or cushions, or any kind of décor or decorations. Nancy Tietz (pers. comm., 2017) remembers, ‘The décor in the Smiths’ house was austere. There were curtains in the lounge but no carpet. There were no curtains in the dining room but the table was properly set with a table cloth, side plates, knife and soup spoon of worn silver-plate. The homemade pumpkin soup was served in enamel plates.’

  In a speech to the Rotary Club of Grahamstown on 2nd June 1952, JLB revealed the extent of his dietary eccentricity when he talked about experiments that he had carried out on his own body in order to determine an optimal diet. A report of the meeting summarised his unusual regimes:

  ‘After having been in bad health for some time after a serious illness on the coast, he had done a range of experiments with food, including “monofeeding”, eating only one kind of food at a time, such as meat, vegetables or fruit. He admitted that some of his experiments were successful, others not, but “after some time there occurred a remarkable improvement in health”. He related that they ate little or no refined or “dead” food, such as white bread, refined sugar, but ate as much raw fruit and vegetables as possible. He said that they aimed to obtain sufficient calories from “good proteins” rather than starch. He also said that experts do not support the view “that sugar gives energy”. They found the reverse, and it was better to eat protein. The idea that glucose before a game helped a footballer was hardly sound. It was better to take nothing. … The South African race had become one of the most virile and progressive in the world. It seemed as if the leading races always ate good protein food like meat and cheese and fish’ (Rotary Club of Grahamstown report, Rhodes University Archive).

  Once again the organic chemist was making his views heard. He even sent recommendations in this regard to the coach of the Springbok rugby team! To some extent he anticipated the ‘fad’ diets that are now so popular in the 21st century2.

  The Smiths’ dietary regime was frugal and unvaried. Even if guests were assured that they were having ‘tiger pie’ for supper, it was made from fish!3 They had no stove, only a hot plate. John Rennie remembers JLB Smith joining his parents (Professor JVL Rennie and his wife, Beatrix) for dinner in Grahamstown, where a modest spread of bread and cheese was offered. JLB insisted on eating the crusts on either end of the loaf, and also asked for the crusts along the length of the loaf to be cut off for him to eat. This dietary choice was somewhat in conflict with his views, expressed at other times, that he did not eat ‘dead’, i.e. processed, food (Barnett, 1953), although it’s possible he enjoyed the occasional private indulgence: according to Ian Sholto-Douglas (pers. comm., 2016), he had a predilection for ‘Silver Leaf’ tinned peas!

  Sholto-Douglas also revealed that, when JLB and Margaret travelled to Johannesburg where he was to give a talk to the Royal Society of South Africa, they stayed in the plush Savoy Hotel but took their own tin crockery and cutlery into the dining room!

  Further evidence of the limitations of the Smiths’ menu comes from Mary-Louise Penrith, who remembers joining Nancy Tietz for dinner at Margaret’s house one evening. The only course was fish (with no chips), and after dinner they were required to help Margaret with a card index that she was compiling of JLB’s publications. Mary-Louise and Nancy were unimpressed as they had intended to go to the movies that night before they were invited to dinner – under false pretences, it would seem. Some correspondents have claimed that even some of the jams and desserts served in the Smiths’ household were made from fish!

  Nancy Tietz remembers further:

  ‘When young family members went to the Smith household for a meal, “Aunty Mary” told them that they never eat proteins and carbohydrates in the same meal; they eat fish or potatoes, not fish and potatoes. Sweets were strictly banned from the house, which caused the kids to get up to all sorts of mischief buying and hiding sweets in the garden. Even Margaret made secret plans in this regard. When she attended conferences with JLB Smith and Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer, she would ask Marge to buy some chocolates so that she could indulge herself without JLB’s knowledge. Marge was horrified that she should be so deceitful but became deceitful herself by buying the chocolate. People got the impression that Margaret was like a butterfly about to emerge from its pupa’ (Nancy Tietz, pers. comm., 2017).

  Peter Jackson (1996) who, as an undergraduate at Rhodes University from 1946 to 1948 had known Smith, although he was never taught by him, described him as being ‘Of brilliant brain and lone-wolf, somewhat valetudinarian nature, he had made the classification of fishes his spare-time hobby’. Smith’s hypochondria was, it transpired, not without foundation: it was discovered after he died that he had only one functional kidney. If his medical doctors had known this, they might have better understood the reason for his high blood pressure and may have suggested alternative treatments for his malaise.

  Ian Sholto-Douglas recalls (pers. comm., 2016):

  ‘One day Len came back from the doctor, informing his wife that he was seriously ill and needed an operation. Alarmed, she privately went to see the doctor to find out about his condition and if he thought an operation was unavoidable: “Yes, I’m going to operate on him,” he replied irritably. “Not a damn thing is wrong with him, but he insists on this operation, so I’m doing it!” Which he did.’

&nb
sp; Smith was a willing and popular speaker at local events in Grahamstown. His performance was characterised by humorous anecdotes interspersed with vivid tales of gruelling hardships. After one such talk, about a fish-collecting expedition to ‘remote parts’, a Mr Eales stated in his vote of thanks:

  ‘Professor Smith spoke for almost two hours with vivid and forceful eloquence. Not only did he hold his audience enthralled and carry them to the distant lands and scenes which he described, but frequent flashes of humour helped to tone down the picture of the sometimes grim conditions he outlined.’

  JLB’s first questions when he interviewed new staff were revealing of his exacting standards and intolerance of others’ habits: do you smoke4 or use perfume? Due to his health-conscious attitude, he would not consider employing anyone who answered yes to either question, regardless of their qualifications or experience.

  In an unpublished memoir on JLB Smith made available by Glyn Hewson (pers. comm., 2017), Glyn remembers JLB’s tight control of his staff:

  ‘There was a stir of interest in the early days when, out of the blue, Josephine Chan Henry became a secretary at the Department: young, petite and very efficient. She drove a huge old black Mercury, one of those fifties models with an abundance of chromium teeth in severe need of orthodontic treatment, spilling out below the front bonnet. A friend of mine who was a boarder at Kingswood from Hong Kong, was keen to meet her. We sat and chatted in her office, not unaware of the silence around the rest of the Department where WORK was happening. Sure enough, a commandingly stentorian voice came floating over the top of the partitions from the Professor’s domain, “Miss Chan Henry, I asked for the file on Border angling” … Without hesitation: “It’s the blue one Professor, third down in the pile on the left hand side of your desk”. Then after a few more minutes, “Copy of the letter to the British Museum written the day before yesterday, Miss Chan Henry”. “Yes Professor, it’s with Mrs Smith at the moment, I gave it to her yesterday …”. And then Margaret’s voice would also respond from her office, across the top of the adjoining partition, “I’ve acted on the second paragraph, Professor, the slides will be here tomorrow ...”. At one point there was [a] rapid sound of sandalled feet along the bare boards and suddenly the Professor’s face popped around the doorway. A curt nod to us, another file and he was gone. And we knew it was time to leave!’