Tyrannosaurus Sue-- The Extraordinary Saga of the Largest, Most Fought Over T. Rex Ever Found

by Steve Fiffer

  appointed guardians of the faith; they want to make fossils off limits to

  anyone without a doctorate. It's especially tragic because it threatens

  good amateurs—who've d o n e m o r e for the science than anyone."

  In a 1998 interview, Dr. Louis Jacobs, a professor of geological sci-

  ences at S o u t h e r n Methodist University a n d president of SVP,

  unashamedly admitted that paleontologists at not-for-profit institutions

  should feel superior to commercial hunters. "They [commercial hunters]

  don't play any role in science I think you could find any graduate stu-

  dent and they would have greater interest, greater dedication, greater

  desire to build a better world [than do commercial hunters]." These stu-

  dents and their professors are "dedicated to doing something good" as

  opposed to making money, Jacobs insisted. He seemed unimpressed with

  the argument that those at universities and m u s e u m s might be moved by

  factors other than altruism, such as the opportunity for financial gain or

  professional advancement and recognition.

  Larson bristles at Jacobs's blanket c o n d e m n a t i o n , then offers his

  own generalization about his critics. "There's always a small segment of

  any profession, a portion of the scientific c o m m u n i t y for whatever rea-

  son, that has a distrust. It's a feeling that some people have of inade-

  quacy, envy—although they don't see it as that. They have a frustration

  at not really making any significant advances of their own. T h e n they

  see someone with no [formal] training or specific skills [like a Sue

  Hendrickson]. They feel they put in the early effort, they had the

  schooling, and they feel rewards should c o m e to them.

  "But there is m o r e to it than schooling. You can't just stand at the

  foot of a m o u n t a i n . You have to be willing to climb the m o u n t a i n . A lot

  of armchair paleontologists have never grasped the fact that you have to

  work to discover something. If you want to find something in the field,

  you have to go out into the field. You can make wonderful discoveries

  opening m u s e u m drawers, but it's not the same thing."

  Larson acknowledges that there isn't a lot of government m o n e y for

  paleontological research. "That is frustrating. But m a n y of these [acad-

  emics] earn comfortable livings. They could spend s o m e of their o w n

  m o n e y to go out into the field. They have the t i m e — b u t they don't do

  that."

  As the war of words over the pros a n d cons of commercial collect-

  ing intensified, the battle for t e m p o r a r y custody of Sue moved toward a

  8 6

  TYRANNOSAURUS S U E

  resolution. Almost two years to the day that Hendrickson had first spied

  Sue, the Eighth Circuit agreed to hear the institute's appeal of Judge

  Battey's decision to keep the bones at the School of Mines until the

  question of ownership was decided. T h e court would hear oral argu-

  ments from the parties on October 14 in St. Paul.

  At the same time, the institute's original suit to determine owner-

  ship (not t e m p o r a r y custody) took an interesting twist. On July 31, the

  institute a m e n d e d its original complaint that had sought to quiet title.

  In this new complaint, the institute a b a n d o n e d the quiet title theory and

  did not request that the court determine ownership at all. Instead, the

  a m e n d e d complaint raised a single issue: whether the institute's claim to

  Sue, based on its purchase from Maurice Williams, was superior to the

  government's need for the bones as evidence in a criminal action the

  government had yet to file.

  Why would the institute a b a n d o n its claim that it owned Sue and

  argue n o w only that it had a superior possessory claim? Quite simply,

  the lawyers n o w felt that this was the best way to regain the bones. Judge

  Magill's June 26 opinion had, after all, stated that the "rationale for the

  seizure [was] inadequate." The opinion had also seemed to suggest that

  the government had to prove its need for the dinosaur, or give her back

  until the ownership question was finally settled.

  T h e institute lawyers felt that if they could get Sue back temporari-

  ly u n d e r this theory, they would never have to give her up again. Their

  reasoning went like this: Both the tribe and the government were claim-

  ing ownership. T h e tribe was threatening to bring its own action for the

  T. rex in tribal court, where it might receive a m o r e favorable hearing.

  But if it did so, it would have to n a m e the U.S. government as a defen-

  dant. Invoking the defense of "sovereign i m m u n i t y " ( i m m u n i t y from

  the jurisdiction of the court by virtue of its status as a government), the

  United States would never c o m e to court, a n d the tribe's ownership

  claim could not be adjudicated. Similarly, if the United States sued for

  title to Sue in federal court, the tribe could also invoke sovereign i m m u -

  nity (or so Judge Magill suggested). And with the tribe absent, the fed-

  eral court could not adjudicate its claim. Either the tribe or the govern-

  m e n t could waive the defense of sovereign immunity, but the institute

  lawyers did not think they would. And if they didn't, then Sue would

  remain at the institute permanently by default.

  T A K I N G A H O W I T Z E R TO A F L Y 87

  Whether or not the bones were needed by the government, the

  criminal investigation was proceeding . . . and expanding. C o u r t docu-

  ments filed by Schieffer alleged that the case involved reservation land

  and "other public lands" in South Dakota. The acting U.S. attorney also

  said that he was investigating "ongoing, multistate criminal activity."

  The government was obviously looking into m o r e than the collection of

  Sue. No d o u b t the second subpoena requesting virtually all of the insti-

  tute's business records was aimed at getting information about n u m e r -

  ous other dealings.

  By the end of August, Larson was beginning to learn which dealings.

  The government had subpoenaed d o c u m e n t s from N i p p o n Express, an

  air freight c o m p a n y in Minneapolis. N i p p o n had once shipped a repli-

  ca of a dinosaur back from Japan to the institute.

  The names of grand jury witnesses were also surfacing. Subpoenaed

  by Schieffer, Clayton Ray had testified for two days. Why? D u r i n g the

  raid, Larson had casually mentioned to an FBI agent that a friend from

  the Smithsonian (Ray) had called a few days earlier about a r u m o r that

  the bureau wanted to k n o w how to move a dinosaur. Larson r e m e m -

  bered that the agent had told h i m that the call may have constituted

  obstruction of justice.

  Schieffer also subpoenaed Eddie Cole, a Utah fossil h u n t e r with

  w h o m the Larsons had d o n e business for 15 years. Cole told the Jour-

  nal's Harlan that Ranger Robins and FBI agent Asbury had visited him

  at his h o m e . They were interested in a prehistoric turtle he had sold

  Larson in 1991. According to Cole, the pair insisted that he had taken

  the turtle from an excavated hole on Bureau of Land M a n a g e m e n t

  (B
LM) grasslands. He said that the investigators knew that he and his

  family had camped near the hole; they even knew he had left 21 Merit

  cigarette butts there. They had videotapes and p h o t o g r a p h s of the site

  as well.

  Cole denied the allegations. He said he had found the turtle on pri-

  vate land and bought it from a rancher. He had then sold it to Peter

  Larson, who helped with the excavation.

  Cole was also questioned about a partial skull that he had sold the

  institute. He admitted that it may have c o m e from state or federal land,

  but insisted he hadn't revealed that to Larson because "he wouldn't have

  bought it." Questioned by Harlan, Larson confirmed this. He insisted

  8 8 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E

  that he never knowingly b o u g h t specimens collected on public land, but

  acknowledged that he didn't always personally check the location. "We

  buy from people we trust," he explained.

  T h e skull in question was that of a mosasaur.

  Cole claimed that Robins and Draper had harassed and threatened

  h i m d u r i n g their initial interrogation. Larson also told Harlan that he

  feared that the government was subjecting m a n y of his clients and sup-

  pliers to the same treatment. Duffy added: "[The government] is send-

  ing word out planet-wide to the paleontology c o m m u n i t y that my

  clients are u n d e r investigation." He accused Schieffer of conducting a

  "scorched earth" investigation. "It's a frightening glimpse of justice

  u n d e r the New Order," he said.

  On October 10, scores of institute supporters gathered at the Heart

  of the Hills Convenience Store Exxon & Super 8 Motel parking lot next

  to the institute for the "First Annual Sue Freedom Run, Walk, Hop, Skip,

  Jump, or Crawl." For a $10 fee that went to the Free Sue fund, partici-

  pants received a T. rex T-shirt, post-race refreshments, a n d the chance to

  win prizes donated by m o r e than 25 local businesses, including Hill City

  Jewelers, Jake's Casino at the Midnight Spa, Frosty's Drive-in, and

  Andrea's Chain Saw Sales and Service.

  Four days later, institute lawyers gathered at the federal building in

  St. Paul for oral arguments on their appeal of Judge Battey's decision to

  let Sue remain at the School of Mines. They knew that this proceeding

  might be their best chance to win the T. rex her freedom. In June, Judge

  Magill's three-judge panel had seemed considerably m o r e sympathetic

  than Judge Battey had ever been.

  T h e institute and the government had previously submitted lengthy

  briefs with n u m e r o u s cases supporting their respective positions. The

  court also had the 600-page record of the July hearing presided over by

  Battey, including the testimony of each side's experts on pyrite disease

  and dinosaur storage. Duffy felt confident that the briefs and the record

  favored his side, a n d he m a d e the legal arguments as any lawyer would.

  Then he told the court h o w he really thought the case should be decid-

  ed: "It comes d o w n to this," he said, pausing for effect before continu-

  ing. " W h o loves this dinosaur more?"

  5

  W H O O W N S S U E ?

  "Two million, three hundred thousand," Redden said. Stan

  Adelstein's paddle and Peter Larson's heart sank at the same

  time. "I guess we lost her," Larson sighed.

  No moment of silence was observed. The bidding con-

  tinued. "Two million seven hundred thousand." Larson

  couldn't believe the numbers.

  Few newspapers outside South Dakota covered Sue Hendrickson's dis-

  covery of the greatest of the great dinosaurs. In contrast, the FBI raid on

  the institute was featured on several network news shows and garnered

  front-page headlines across the country a n d a r o u n d the world. The

  seizure, not the science, was the story. Few reports focused on Peter

  Larson's findings about the a n a t o m y and social habits of T. rex. Larson

  was m u c h m o r e compelling as a David fighting the Goliath of govern-

  ment than he was as a paleontologist.

  This focus on personality rather than papers is hardly new. In April

  1875, the National Academy of Sciences met in Washington, D.C. At the

  meeting, Yale's Othniel C. M a r s h — t h e second person in history to be

  named a professor of paleontology, the first in America—presented

  important new findings on the development of the brain. The popular

  press yawned.

  Reporters had gone to that gathering of the country's most respect-

  ed scientists looking for something quite different. The New York Tribune

  8 9

  9 0 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E

  wrote: " H a d Prof. Cope been present we might have hoped for a battle of

  bones between h i m and Prof. Marsh, and possibly for an episode that

  would have served for a supplement to the m e e t i n g . . . . But everything

  was decorous and slightly dull." O n e scientific theory holds that, like

  clockwork, every 27 million years some m o n u m e n t a l natural catastrophe

  causes mass extinction. The extinction of decorum and dullness in the

  world of science occurs considerably m o r e regularly. The uncivil but

  highly entertaining late twentieth-century battle of bones involving

  Larson, the SVP, the federal government, and Native Americans remind-

  ed m a n y w h o h u n t stories about fossil hunters of the equally contentious

  but engrossing late nineteenth-century battle of bones involving Marsh,

  Cope, academic societies, the federal government, and Native Americans.

  Cope vs. Marsh was not a lawsuit but a feud played out in the court

  of public opinion for almost 30 years. The hatred these two paleontolo-

  gists felt for each other eventually eroded their images as m e n of charac-

  ter. At the same time, however, the rivalry moved them to almost literally

  move mountains and make many of the best fossil discoveries in history.

  It apparently began with a mistake. In 1869, Cope restored the

  remains of a giant reptile, the Elasmosaurus, in the M u s e u m of the

  Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences. Marsh, w h o had previously

  paid h o m a g e to their friendship by n a m i n g a new species Mosasaurus

  copeanus, came to see the display. His subsequent recollection of the

  events sheds insight into each man's personality:

  W h e n Professor Cope showed it to me a n d explained its pecu-

  liarities I noticed that the articulations of the vertebrae were

  reversed a n d suggested to h i m gently that he had the wrong end

  foremost. His indignation was great, a n d he asserted in strong

  language that he had studied the animal for m a n y m o n t h s and

  ought to at least k n o w o n e end from the other.

  It seems he did not, for Professor (Joseph) Leidy in his quiet

  way took the last vertebra of the tail, as Cope had placed it, and

  found it to be the atlas and axis, with the occipital condyle of the

  skull in position. This single observation of America's most dis-

  tinguished comparative anatomist, w h o m Cope has wronged

  grievously in n a m e and fame, was a demonstration that could

  not be questioned, and when I informed Professor Cope of it his

>   W H O O W N S S U E ? 9 1

  wounded vanity received a shock from which it has never recov-

  ered, and he has since been my bitter enemy. Professor Cope had

  actually placed the head on the end of the tail in all his restora-

  tions, but now his new order was not only extinct, but extin-

  guished.

  In his comprehensive biography of Marsh and Cope, The Dinosaur

  Hunters, Robert Plate paints pictures of two very different personalities

  with the very same goal. T h e methodical Marsh a n d the i m p e t u o u s

  Cope were each consumed with being the most famous, most highly

  regarded scientist of the day. Each knew that the other stood in the way

  of reaching that goal.

  Cope took the early lead. Born outside Philadelphia in 1840, he was

  put on the fast track by his father, a devout Quaker w h o had retired

  comfortably from an inherited business. At 6, young Edwin wrote his

  g r a n d m o t h e r an enthusiastic letter about a visit to a m u s e u m where "I

  saw a M a m m o t h a n d Hydrarchas, does thee k n o w what that is? It is a

  great skeleton of a serpent." At 8, he was filling his sketchbook with scale

  drawings and precise descriptions of everything from toucans to a fos-

  sil skeleton of Ichthyosaurus. Although he received the highest marks for

  his work at school, his conduct was deemed "not quite satisfactory."

  Plate describes him as "a born fighter."

  At age 18, Cope submitted his first paper to the Academy of Natural

  Sciences of Philadelphia. Naturally, the older scholars received it skepti-

  cally. But on reading, " O n the Primary Divisions of the Salamandrae

  with Descriptions of a New Species," these scientists were so impressed

  that they published it in the spring 1859 Proceedings of the academy.

  Marsh was not nearly so precocious. Born in 1831, in the northwest

  corner of New York State, he grew up in modest circumstances. His

  father had turned to farming after his successful shoe manufacturing

  business toppled in the depression of 1837. Marsh did d e m o n s t r a t e an

  early interest in rocks and fossils, often forgoing his chores to go col-

  lecting with a neighbor. But at age 20, he was contemplating a career as

  a carpenter, not a scientist.

  Before forsaking his collecting h a m m e r for a carpenter's hammer,

  Marsh inherited $1200. His relatives, concerned about his future,