by Steve Fiffer
to slip unseen into the auction house after everyone else had taken their
places on the floor. Arriving a few minutes early, they waited inside the
cab until about 10:12. A Sotheby's staffer then took t h e m up a stairway
and through an exhibit gallery to their r o o m . Unbeknownst to t h e m ,
Williams was already in the r o o m directly across from theirs.
Sotheby's second level features a series of relatively small glass-
enclosed "sky boxes" for bidders w h o wish to remain a n o n y m o u s . T h e
rooms are stocked with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. More i m p o r -
tant to Gray, they have curtains. "If you're skillful, you can see what's
happening on the floor, but they can't see you," he explains.
Crane was assigned the task of standing by the curtains and report-
ing w h o m he recognized from the m u s e u m world and w h o was making
each bid. Gray would do the bidding itself. And McCarter would follow
along on a single sheet of paper that had three columns, m a r k e d "Bid,"
"Premium," and "Total." The bid plus the p r e m i u m (Sotheby's 10 per-
cent commission over and above the final bid) equaled the total. "I
wanted to make sure we were focused on the right column—total," says
McCarter. He feared that in the excitement of the m o m e n t , they might
forget about the commission and bid m o r e than they had to s p e n d — a
figure the m u s e u m has never revealed.
As Redden approached the p o d i u m , Gray established p h o n e contact
with Brooks. At about the same time, Peter Larson established p h o n e
contact with the Sotheby's representative w h o would keep him informed
of the bidding. Larson had been released from prison about six weeks
earlier, after serving 18 m o n t h s of his two-year sentence. He had received
the m a x i m u m 90 days off for good behavior but was under " h o m e con-
2 0 8 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E
finement" until mid-November. He was allowed to travel the 15 yards
from his trailer to the institute, b u t he had to check in with his parole
officer when he arrived at work. He could also go to the store and run
other errands, b u t again, he had to advise the officer of his whereabouts.
Under any circumstances, he had to be h o m e for good by 9:00 PM.
Larson had returned to Hill City a changed m a n . "I'm certainly
sorry for the pain and suffering of my family and friends, but I think
that so m a n y valuable things came of this," he said later. "I learned so
m u c h about myself. . . . I learned that love a n d family and friends are
m o r e i m p o r t a n t than work. It really changed my attitude toward life."
"The worst part was actually that period before incarceration when
you're facing the u n k n o w n a n d have these horrible fears. Once you
actually get to prison, you k n o w here you are for this period of time and
you'll be doing these things, so you get into a pattern. It's a lot harder on
the family." He credits Kristin, w h o m a d e the long drive to visit him 24
times, with helping h i m to survive.
Before leaving for Colorado, Larson had talked to others w h o had
been in prison. "Everyone told me, ' D o your o w n time. Mind your own
business,'" he says. He did just that, although he became something of a
celebrity because newspapers a n d television stations occasionally came
to interview him. Fellow inmates couldn't believe he had received two
years for his sins. "They told me, 'Man, that's the worst we ever heard
of,'" he remembers.
Larson's "day jobs" included working at landscaping, in the library,
a n d as a busboy. He devoted the rest of his time to correspondence and
business. In 18 m o n t h s he answered m o r e than 1900 letters of support
from people in 38 states a n d five countries. He also wrote three scientif-
ic papers on dinosaurs a n d finished all but o n e chapter of the first draft
of his b o o k on the science of Tyrannosaurus rex.
While still in prison, Larson had read a newspaper report that Sue
was in New York, being prepared for auction. "I said, 'Oh god, what are
they gonna do to that fossil? They could ruin it or destroy it,'" he
remembers. Ever the paleontologist, he sent Redden a long letter
explaining "not only the m e t h o d s that needed to be used [in prepara-
t i o n ] , b u t the fact that one of the real values of Sue is the contextual
information that needs to be recorded as the matrix is removed and the
little fossils that are included there are revealed. . . . I said we'd help in
E V E R Y T H I N G C H A N G E D T H A T D A Y 2 0 9
any way possible. It's like helping the FBI w r a p her to take her away. You
want to make sure that nothing harmful happens."
Redden assured Larson that Sue was being treated well. Sotheby's
had retained Henry Galiano, formerly a curatorial assistant and collec-
tions manager at the American M u s e u m of Natural History, as its pale-
ontology consultant. The institute did help in several ways, providing
information about Sue a n d photographs for the auction catalog. "They
were extremely generous in dealing with us," says Redden. "They were
the finders. To them will always go the glory of finding an extraordinary
fossil. They cared about the fossil deeply."
So, too, did Sotheby's. Aware that Sue could be lost to science and
perhaps the public if a private collector prevailed, the auction house had
devised special sales terms for m u s e u m s and educational institutions:
payment over three years at no additional interest.
While Sotheby's prepared Sue for sale, Larson's wife and m o t h e r - i n -
law tried to find a sponsor to help get her back. Stan Adelstein, a suc-
cessful contractor, eventually consented. "Unfortunately there wasn't
enough m o n e y in the state of South Dakota to get her at the auction,"
says Larson.
Adelstein was out of the h u n t before the Field M u s e u m even
entered. Why did Gray wait until the bidding had reached $5.2 million
before opening his m o u t h a n d the museum's checkbook? "The last thing
I ever want to do is pick up sales," he explains. Apparently he was the
only professional a m o n g those bidding on Sue. "In the field of
dinosaurs, there's not a lot of auction experience. In a r o o m full of ama-
teurs, you can't get caught up in the excitement." These amateurs could
be "hyped u p " and moved to bid unreasonably, says Gray. "My job was
to keep cool and calm. Dede kept asking, 'Are you gonna bid?' I said,
'Maybe.'"
"Five million nine hundred thousand."
McCarter followed along on his cheat sheet, biting his nails. "I was
not confident," he says. "I didn't k n o w if we had enough m o n e y to pre-
vail."
Crane watched the floor. It appeared that the N o r t h Carolina State
Museum of Natural History and o n e other u n k n o w n bidder were still in
2 1 0 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E
the running. Gray was confident. "At a certain point, I could tell by the
pace and the size of the bids that they were reaching their limits," he
says. He sounds like a jockey ready to make his move when the front
&n
bsp; r u n n e r s r u n out of steam.
"Seven million." Pause. "Seven million one hundred thousand."
Pause. "Seven million two hundred thousand."
At $7.5 million, the crowd gasped and giggled nervously.
Redden searched the room for another bidder, beseeched the
room for another bidder. "Seven million five hundred thou-
sand," he repeated.
Gray smiled, more confident than ever. He spoke to Brooks.
She nodded to Redden. "Seven million six hundred thousand,"
he said. He sounded faintly amused. "Seven million six hundred
thousand. Seven million six hundred thousand. Fair warning,
seven million six hundred thousand up here."
"Put the goddamn gavel down," Gray shouted in the room.
Redden brought down the gavel. "Seven million six hundred
thousand." The room exploded into applause.
"What am I going to tell them?" Brooks asked Gray. She still did not
k n o w w h o m he represented.
"Tell t h e m s o m e o n e will be down."
As Gray headed for the doorway, McCarter picked up the phone. Flynn
and other staffers and Block and other trustees had gathered in McCarter's
office to await the results. So, too, had Amy Murray of McDonald's.
"Chicago, we have a dinosaur!" announced the museum president.
Including Sotheby's commission, the dinosaur cost $8.36 million.
Gray says Sue went for almost exactly what he expected. Says Crane: "We
had a limit and we were getting pretty close to it."
W h e n McCarter called, "the r o o m erupted," recalls Murray. "There
was so m u c h e m o t i o n — s h o u t i n g , j u m p i n g , tears."
By this time Gray had reached the press area at Sotheby's. The trio
from the m u s e u m had realized the true gravity of the event when they
first arrived in their r o o m and saw a horde of television news crews on
the floor. Now Gray faced the largest media assembly he had ever seen
in an auction house. W h o had w o n Sue? they and everyone else w h o had
c o m e to the auction wanted to know.
E V E R Y T H I N G C H A N G E D T H A T D A Y 2 1 1
Gray pulled out the statement he had written the previous evening.
"This m o r n i n g I have the pleasure of having been awarded custody of
Sue, the world's largest and probably oldest young lady," he said. "She
will spend her next birthday—that's her 70 millionth—in her new
h o m e on the shores of Lake Michigan. That is, of course, in Chicago at
the renowned Field M u s e u m of Natural History."
Tremendous applause followed. The fears that a private collector
had prevailed and would be spiriting Sue away to a castle or pagoda or
casino lobby evaporated. As Flynn would later say, '"Now [Sue] can be
around for another 65 million years for everyone to see."
As it turned out, Sue probably would have been available for every-
one to see even if the Field had not prevailed. The N o r t h Carolina State
M u s e u m had been the second r u n n e r - u p , dropping out at $7.2 million.
The u n d e r b i d d e n w h o had been willing to pay $7.5 million, was the Jay
I. Kislak Foundation, an entity created by a wealthy Miami financier.
Kislak, a collector whose p r i m a r y interest was pre-Columbian artifacts,
had been taken with the story of the T. rex. If victorious, he planned to
donate the fossil to a natural history m u s e u m in Florida.
Redden was not surprised by the outcome. He says that only one of
the bidders had been foreign, then adds, "One of the issues in the media
was that surely this will be bought by a private individual w h o would put
it in a vault in Hong Kong or Asia or somewhere else. I found that unlike-
ly. To me it was an obvious m u s e u m object. Nor would anyone have any
more money than an American m u s e u m . People say American m u s e u m s
are poor. I think they are rich [when it comes to acquisitions like this].
They may have a tough time finding someone to fix the roof, but for a fab-
ulous acquisition . . . " He says that all the m u s e u m s bidding had corpo-
rate support. Some had asked him to recommend prospective corporate
sponsors, and, he says, "I recommended companies like [McDonald's and
Disney]."
After Gray finished his statement, McCarter met the press to talk
about his fabulous acquisition. He a n n o u n c e d that McDonald's a n d
Disney had helped the m u s e u m acquire the dinosaur, as had the
California State University system. As he spoke, the fax machines at the
m u s e u m were already h u m m i n g , sending out a press release written
with the help of McDonald's. Media outlets across the country quickly
learned that McDonald's would take two casts of Sue on tour after the
2 1 2 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E
m u s e u m unveiled her original, reconstructed skeleton in the year 2000
and that another cast would stand in Disney's DinoLand USA.
Word of the Field's unique marriage with the corporate icons gen-
erated a buzz t h r o u g h o u t Sotheby's. "It was kind of a dazzling moment,"
says Daly. "There was t r e m e n d o u s enthusiasm for the fact that the Field
M u s e u m had gotten it And then when John immediately announced
it had been d o n e in a consortium in a way that was unheard of, I think,
in their ranks, and then that the consortium included McDonald's and
Disney, I think that was even a little m o r e dazzling. So that intuition that
we all had that this could be big kind of came true that day. It was an
international story. Global. It really was big."
Bigger than Peter Larson had even dared imagine. "I think we just
underestimated her value," he said shortly after the auction. "I mean
she's the most famous fossil in the world."
H o w did he feel about the auction's result? "Of course, we're sad we
don't have her, but she's going to have a good home," he said. "The Field
M u s e u m is a wonderful h o m e . The people there will treat her with
respect as well as care. We're going to be able to learn again from her.
She's really a time capsule. She's not just a pile of bones."
J. Keith Pvigby, Jr., a paleontologist w h o h u n t e d dinosaurs in M o n -
tana, viewed the result differently. "Everything changed on that day," he
said at the SVP convention a week after the auction. "This sale may be
the single most damaging action in the history of vertebrate paleontol-
ogy"
13
Y O U M A Y A P P R O A C H
H E R M A J E S T Y
The caller from M o n t a n a had bad news. The Waltons were trying to
steal Keith Rigby's dinosaur. They had moved a backhoe o n t o the land,
and n o w they were trying to take the bones. Rigby, w h o was in Boston
at the time, m a d e some telephone calls. Local paleontologists rushed to
the site. Someone from the digging party brandished a gun. Finally the
local sheriff arrived to cool tempers a n d sort things out.
It was fairly complicated. Rigby looks for fossils a r o u n d the world.
As he is an assistant professor at Notre D a m e , he has limited funds for
his forays. But he has found a creative way to pay his way. He leads fos-
sil collecting expeditions for Earthwa
tch, a Boston-based, not-for-prof-
it organization. Amateur dinosaur hunters pay Earthwatch for the expe-
rience of accompanying and helping Rigby on his digs. D u r i n g the s u m -
mer of 1997, those digs were near Fort Peck, M o n t a n a — t h e area in
which Larson was alleged to have collected off federal lands.
Rigby had received permission from o n e branch of the Walton fam-
ily to search a promising formation. His finds would not be sold.
Rather, he was working with local residents to create a natural history
m u s e u m and interpretive center in the area. He believed, as Peter
Larson believed, that a m u s e u m featuring dinosaurs would attract visi-
tors and boost the economy.
In July 1997, four m e m b e r s of the Earthwatch party literally s t u m -
bled over some badly weathered bones. They started digging and found
more remains of a meat-eating dinosaur with a jaw s o m e 5 feet long. "If
2 1 3
2 1 4 TYRANNOSAURUS S U E
it's a kind of tyrannosaur, it's probably the largest one ever found,"
Rigby told the press shortly after the discovery. "It may be another type
of carnivore, but whatever it is, it's an enormously i m p o r t a n t discovery."
Rigby, w h o employed m e m b e r s of the Walton family to help run the
c a m p , decided to postpone full-scale excavation until the following year.
His crew w r a p p e d the exposed bones in plaster jackets and reburied
t h e m . Some days later he received the call that the Waltons were trying
to dig up the skull of what had been n a m e d the "Peck Rex."
W h e n confronted by authorities, the Waltons claimed the bones
were theirs. "We've been a r o u n d a long time," D o n Walton later told the
media. " O n e of o u r ancestors was a signer of the Declaration of
Independence. H o w would you like it if the government came in and
told you what you could do or not do with your land?"
Unfortunately for the Waltons, the land wasn't exactly theirs. Some
years earlier a D e p a r t m e n t of Agriculture agency had foreclosed on it.
Rigby knew of the foreclosure, b u t had been told that the plot where the
dinosaur had been found still belonged to the Waltons.
In the past, like the Larsons, Rigby had taken landowners at their
word. Arguably, had those landowners been mistaken or intentionally