JOHN BENNETT SHAW

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.

The Serpentine Muse is copyrighted by the Adventuresses of Sherlock Holmes, and written permission must be obtained for reproduction of an article in another publication or website. Contact the Webmistress at mmckayATL@comcast.net