JOHN
BENNETT SHAW
Arcadia (BSI: The Hans
Sloan of My Age)
Other links for John
Bennett Shaw
http://www.nashvillescholars.net/interviews/shawSantaFe.htm
John was one of the three men initially invested in ASH: the excerpt below from
a paper by JBS in the Baker Street Journal (one of a series of papers on the
retirement of Dr. Julian Wolff) explains why he was chosen.
from
the Baker Street Journal 36,:1, pp 88-89.
Used with permission
.
Not long after I
began regular attendance at the annual dinners, I began to present papers. On
one occasion I shared the program with Rex Stout, and I noted that we made an
interesting trio at the podium: Shaw at some 265 pounds, Rex at about 130 and
Julian there the center of all eyes....
At the last dinner
held at The Players (and I do not believe that I was the cause of its being the
Last Dinner), I delivered my thoughtful paper "To Shelve or Censor" -- on the
many obscene passages in the Holmesian Canon, Noting considerable acceptance of
my erudite theories on the part of the audience I asked Julian, the Editor, if
he would consider publishing it in the JOURNAL. He hesitated, then began by
paying me a rather bibliophilian compliment by saying that my talk "was quite a
tail piece," and then he stated that THE BAKER STREET JOURNAL was unworthy of
such a composition.
Certainly my most memorable (and really not regrettable) encounter with Dr.
Wolff, Editor, Commissionaire, Leader, was at the 5 January 1968 dinner. I was
by some quirk of fate acting as an “adviser” (a concept utterly ridiculous) to a
group of Sherlockian women, all students at Albertus Magnus College in New
Haven, Connecticut, banded together as “The Adventuresses of Sherlock Holmes.”
And on that cold January night in 1968, six of these scholars deployed outside
Cavanaugh’s Restaurant on West 23rd Street and, Heaven Help Us!, they picketed
the BSI as being unfair to women. The first I knew of this, that they had lived
up to their threat to defy custom, propriety, the laws of the City and our
sacrosanct all-male literary society, was that a very red-faced, apoplectic,
excited, and angry Julian Wolff said, "Shaw, your [bleep] girls are downstairs
... do something!" I did, of course, for who can withstand a Wolff angered? I
recruited my friend Peter Blau, an eligible bachelor (to save research: he still
is), and we hastened to the scene of the crime. And it appeared so, for a
nicely-spoken policeman (much nicer in speech than Wolff to Shaw) told the
ladies that they could not picket without a parade permit. One of them rummaged
through a purse and came out with a letter signed by Mayor John Lindsey giving
them permission to parade. It was a stand-off, an open rebellion, a shocking
reversal of roles, for it was women getting the attention, not the erudite
gentlemen upstairs drinking away. Reason in the person of Shaw-Blau prevailed,
and the six cold coeds were brought into the bar, warming liquid was purchased,
and the then-flustered Shaw agreed to read a statement to the assembly. I still
have this in my file, and it reads: “To Whom It May Concern. The A.S.H. wish to
announce that, while not forsaking their noble quest for the admission of ladies
to the B.S. I., they will graciously refrain from any public display that might
be a cause of embarrassment to this august body. But we still want in!”
That message was read and booed, and to this day I catch Julian looking not
pleasantly askance at me. Almost I feel that while I am not branded with a
Scarlet A, I carry a brand that reads A.S.H.
It
should be recounted that the next year they again returned and attempted to
crash the Cocktail Party, which precedes the dinner. They were rebuffed, and I
spent the rest of the evening vainly trying to look small and be unnoticed.
One could continue
for many pages recounting the career of Julian Wolff as a scholar, a
bibliophile, a raconteur, an efficient and organized leader of a disorganized
and Irregular group of extraordinary people. One could relate many episodes
evidencing his gentle wit, his understanding, his love of literature, people,
and life. He has been a joy to behold, to listen to, and to follow. He has said
on several occasions that for the Baker Street Irregulars at the dinner the best
part of the program is the Intermission. Not so: the best part is Julian Wolff,
a/k/a "The Red-Headed League and the Commissionaire.
Remarks at Presentation at Culinary Institute 4 May 1991 by Evelyn Herzog,
Principal Unprincipled Adventuress:
...Without losing sight of the historical fact that first one and later two
women were BSI members for some years (and ASH members, as well), many
Adventuresses often expressed their extreme willingness to see the BSI become a
co-educational organization. As you all well know, on 12 January of this year
that happy day arrived, when Wiggins of the BSI inducted half a dozen surprised
but deeply gratified women into that organization. Now that the excitement has
somewhat abated and a more mellow frame of mind has returned, I would like to
take this opportunity to look back and honor here tonight some people who have
been of singular importance to the Adventuresses.
...As
readers of the Baker Street Journal know, ASH's earliest days of tutelage were
spent under the indulgent and farseeing eye of John Bennett Shaw. I will be
phoning John later tonight to alert him to the fact that a packet will shortly
arrive in Santa Fe conveying to him two things: an ASH pin engraved with his
initials and the date 4 May 91, and an ASH membership card.
I
pause here for a word about ASH investitures. Ordinarily a new member chooses a
name from among the females of the Canon -- the definition of "female" being
taken, um, broadly. That is, we have as our investitures the names of women and
children, ships, books, works of art, and manifestations of nature.
However, we can
perceive another way -- a very Canonical way -- of making an ash of oneself;
proving indisputably that gender is not destiny and that ASHes are made, not
born. However, we can perceive another
way -- a very Canonical way -- of making an ash of oneself; proving indisputably
that gender is not destiny and that ASHes are made, not born. And so, to our
dear John Shaw, we proffer the investiture of "Arcadia."
In 1994, The Adventuresses lost the great John Bennett
Shaw. While most Sherlockians think of John as a BSI, he was an Adventuress,
too, and proud to be one. This poem appeared in The Serpentine Muse vol 13, no.
1, 1996.
TO DEAR JOHN ‑ October
3,1994
by Robert Thomalen
How bright the light
that just went out,
And left our world a darker place.
Sherlockians now grope our way:
His footsteps in the sand we trace.
How can it be that he
is gone?
He was for us a guide.
Now rudderless, we wander on
With sorrow and despair inside.
How can it be that his
great strides
No longer touch the earth?
For more than any other, it was he
Who gave the game its worth.
How can we stand
another day
Without his genial wit?
He'd take the most demanding task
And make a game of it.
How can we bear
another day
And suffer such great loss?
The absence of John Bennett Shaw
Shall be our albatross.
So, dear John,
Take with you all our
thanks and love
To spectral Baker Street
For now, at last, and face to face,
You'll Holmes and Watson meet.
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