Prehistoric Journeys: Dreams, Nightmares & Survival of an American Family

Copyright © 2012 by April Rhodes-James.

Library of Congress Control Number:                         2012906941

ISBN:                    Hardcover                         978-1-4691-6814-2

ISBN:                    Softcover                          978-1-4691-6813-5

ISBN:                    Ebook                              978-1-4691-6815-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Cover Photo by Gordon Wenzel

taken 09/27/2010 during exhibit of Apollo the sauropod

at The Pennsylvania Capitol, Harrisburg

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

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110486

Contents

The Earliest Days Of The Journey

The Start Of Something Big

The First Ever, Student-Run Mammoth Expedition

The Animal Movement

Our Story—Wanted: A New Friend

June 27, 1990

Under Investigation: Never A Good Experience

Questioning The Kingpins

When Being Raided, Do Not Faint!

Paleo Respect: It Don’t Come Easy

On The Shoulders Of An Army

The Challenges Of Recovery

Einstein: Dinosaur With A Brain Case

The Barn/Dwelling Project

Hello Apollo & Welcome To Sunbury!

The Apollo Road Show

Apollo Reporting For Duty! Sir!

Small Town America

Is The Backbone Of America

A Prehistoric Journeys Postscript

(April 10, 2012)

Fossils: An Appendix

Lexicon

Books

This book is dedicated to our daughter Catherine,

grandson Robert James (RJ) and April’s mom, June.

No matter what she was experiencing on a personal level,

June (Nana to her only granddaughter) encouraged us,

always stood by us and provided invaluable input.

She lived the unpredictable journey with us, as has Catherine,

and they both have shared it proudly with others over the years.

Mom, we miss you so much for so many reasons.

We also miss Barry’s mom, Marie, who was

a persistent supporter and who generated

awareness of us and our projects.

Sadly, we only learned of this

after it was too late to say,

"Thank You, Mom Marie;

we wish you had been able to tell us."

April’s father unexpectedly passed away just days

before this book went to press. His support

and pride was evidenced in subtle ways that are

greatly appreciated by his family.

Play on, Dad, Clair de Lune if you please!

A few recent, unsolicited comments about Prehistoric Journeys:

Dream, Nightmares and Survival of An American Family

An amazing account of your tortured journey through the American justice system. It took a lot of courage to delve into that black hole… this book will set a standard for others unfairly persecuted to see there are ways to fight back. I am sure the book will serve others well as practical example and inspiration that even the most overwhelming of forces can be defeated and that people are able to come out on the other side as creative, strong and kind after having faced the Beast.

Chris Snyder, entrepreneur

I just opened the book package about 30 minutes ago and cannot put your book down. April, you have a good way with words. Continue to write. We never really find out who we are until we are faced with the formidable and the unconquerable. God bless both of you.

N. L. Larson, scientist

I’m sitting down with some of my notes written while reading your magnificent, captivating, soul-searching, heart-wrenching book. This book seals and validates your survival and extreme courage in keeping on toward your goals even when things looked hopeless. Reading this will give hope to others. In writing of the (legal) case, your graphic descriptions of incidents were riveting; this must have been very difficult to relive and put into words so others could have some understanding of your suffering. When you wrote the book, truly, you did the right thing.

Mary Grimes, family advocate

I finished reading your book and found it to be quite a roller coaster ride! The highlight is your poem, "Strangers in the Home—truly inspired, thought-provoking writing, (it is) an intimate portrait painted with words. I wish I could have been there to offer some kind of support when you needed it most, but it is apparent you received plenty of that from friends and neighbors. I was so relieved when the story ended on a positive, uplifting note with the Einstein and Apollo dinosaur projects. I will no doubt read the book again in the not-too-distant future.

John Luther, artisan

The book was so compelling; truly a labor of love and fortitude (I’d say worse than childbirth) and what will result will be something you can be so very proud of. By the way, the completion of the last two dinos was thrilling, to say the least, and the verbal images were vivid as can be. From arrival and preparation to the setting up, your descriptions helped me see it.

Kathy Nunokawa, design executive

The book, on a wonderfully rainy day, has me riveted to the couch, skipping lunch because I don’t want to interrupt the chapter and, then, the heading of the next chapter lures me in for prolonged anguish… my own, but much more so, yours. It has glorious flow; your powerful words and phraseology has me ensconced in feelings. But I just broke down in tears… it was the poem you wrote, Strangers in the Home. This book starts out so simply—short sentences, simple syntax—and then builds to a crescendo which remains at high peak. It is a fooler. No one better stop (or judge it) early.

Dianne Fantaskey, educator

Halfway through the book now and I must say it’s been a long time since I couldn’t put a book down. But I can’t! I’m lovin’ it, as the ad would say.

Matt Bowen, radio personality

Just spent the last 3 days engrossed in your fabulous (though not always frolicking) tale; put everything else on hold to read it! I was impressed and counseled by the utter graciousness with which you told this story, taking the high road at every turn and not shying away from the harsh realities, but also not using the book to vent (even though you had every right to). It was all so well conceived, the various parts melding into each other, culminating in your triumphs with Einstein and Apollo at the end of the book—an ‘up’ note. My heart was with you and Barry on every page… your courage, fortitude, graciousness, gratitude, championship of worthy causes, advocacy of doing the right thing and, perhaps most of all, the deep love you bear your friends and family, which the telling of this tale brings to light with crystal clarity.

Randolph Maxted, author/art curator

I’ve finished your most interesting book. It reveals an incredible saga of your lives. You are truly survivors of life’s adversities, far more than your share. Is the expression bloody but unbowed?

Robert J. Foster, professor (retired)

I did a marathon read and finished your book… very well done… so many peaks and valleys. Very dramatic. It would make a good movie!

Elena Siff-Erenberg, artist/curator

Absolutely great! This was the first time I was able to read a book without being distracted by sounds of talking or other noise. I’ve never read while music is playing (unless instrumental) and especially not while the TV is on, but I read your book while the Giants game was being televised and actually was able to concentrate on and absorb the book—all without even hearing the sound of the announcers in the background. It was totally engrossing. The book really tells the story of hard-working people maintaining their courage and love for each other through very trying times without allowing it to destroy them.

William Feller, geologist

Once I started reading the book, I couldn’t put it down and then, once finished, I read it a second time. Thank you. It was terrific—both times!

Dr. Robert Gray, professor

I wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed the book. Your lives have been incredible! The obstacles you’ve overcome would have flattened most people. I found it inspirational that you’ve survived with your partnership and spirit intact! I hope your continuing story has less adversity and even more joy and that Prehistoric Journeys continues to thrive!

Dr. Beverly Shaw, veterinarian

The Earliest Days of the Journey

Exposed to the desert sun for the first time in 200,000 years, the entire lower jaw of an extinct Mammoth lay beneath Barry’s hands. He stopped digging, turned to his three friends and said, This is going to be bigger than you could ever imagine.

Even so, it was impossible for them to calculate exactly how important the find would be in terms of paleontological history.

In order to understand how Barry discovered this rare mammoth site at the edge of Death Valley in California, we have to go back to when he was a little boy and first became interested in geology and paleontology.

At that point, he wasn’t even aware of the terminology for his newfound hobby. Tracing his history, however, it seems one event consistently led to another and another that would, in April 1982, put him in the position of realizing this once-in-a-lifetime dream.

How It All Began for Barry

In the mid-1950s, Jack and Marie moved with their two young sons, Barry and Bruce, from Westbury to Hicksville, Long Island. The community was a mecca for boom-time building. Barry was five years of age and Bruce a year younger.

New homes were sprouting up with deep trenches dug everywhere to accommodate increasing utility needs. Roads were being graded. Shopping centers appeared where cattle had grazed a short time before. Earth that had been farmland for a century or more was being turned and churned, exposing remnants from earlier inhabitants and treasures from small Colonial villages.

Suburban neighborhoods materialized on Long Island like mushroom patches (and, of course, everywhere across the nation), offering opportunity and a respite from the city for young postwar families.

Jack commuted daily to New York City for his job as a cutter in the garment industry while Marie, a talented but unacknowledged seamstress and artist, stayed home for the most part to care for her boys.

Barry soon met Louis, who lived across the street and would become his best childhood buddy. They wanted to get involved in something, but couldn’t collect stamps or coins; these hobbies were just too expensive for a couple of six-year-old boys. The most convenient option was to collect rocks. (Bruce was a baseball fan and preferred reading or writing to finding rocks.)

The boys would go to one of the new home building sites in the neighborhood and pick up different rocks. Barry began categorizing them as striped rocks, solid rocks or according to different colors and textures because he didn’t really know what they were… until his mom bought two Little Golden Books; one on fossils and one featuring rocks and minerals. The two areas of study went hand-in-hand and Barry devoured the information in the books.

By the time he was in second grade, he had a much greater understanding about the composition and types of rocks. He had also learned about fossils and was fascinated by the potential of holding the bones of a prehistoric being in his hands.

However, there was an immediate problem. Bruce and Barry were being raised in the Catholic faith, which asserts the world is 6,000 years old. But, Barry’s reading with respect to scientific discovery and paleontology proved to him, with factual evidence, that the world was 4.6 billion years old and dinosaurs had roamed the earth 65 million years before man. This went totally against all the tenets of Catholicism.

In confirmation classes, the nuns explained there were no dinosaurs. Displays of dinosaur skeletons, they said, were actually created by museum personnel from the bones of modern-day cows and horses.

Every time Barry questioned the nuns about early man or fossils, he was sent to see the principal; a priest who worked diligently to try and convince Barry that the concept of evolutionary process was mere foolishness. Notes reflecting the boy’s unwillingness to accept the viewpoint of the church were often sent home.

Even with the discouraging input, the two little friends continued to collect rocks and Barry’s fascination with fossils progressed. His parents, despite their strict parochial beliefs, supported him since they were sure the hobby would go the way of other childhood fancies. They were convinced their eldest son would eventually become interested in the priesthood, as was their dream.

When Barry was seven, he found his first actual fossil when Jack was digging up a pine tree in the back yard. It was a tiny shell fossil about one-eighth of an inch in diameter. Barry immediately recognized it because of the independent studying he had been doing.

It was an exciting moment—a pivotal moment. He knew then he was hooked and definitely wanting to get more involved with fossils. He began entering local hobby shows and winning awards for his rock displays. Encouraged by the first little shell discovery, he started building a fossil collection.

The time had come to construct shelves in his bedroom to store the growing rock and fossil collections. Strapped for cash as most young kids are, Barry would get up early on Saturday mornings, ride his bike through the neighborhood and salvage good pieces of glass people had set out by the curb for trash pickup.

Combined with wood scraps and shelving bits he would gather in much the same way, he systematically converted the walls and every available inch of floor space in his bedroom into display units. On the end of one case, he built a cross-section of a volcano, complete with red dye that circulated from bottom to top and back again by the means of a small pump and clear tubing.

He set up another case with ultraviolet lights to house his fluorescent and phosphorescent rocks, such as scheelite, uranium and opal. The display cases were kept intact in his boyhood room just as he left them when he last walked out of the door and until we moved his parents from the Hicksville house and in with us some five decades later! It was an astonishing time capsule.

The most intriguing aspect to young Barry was not just the reality of being able to collect fossils, but that by doing so, he would be given guardianship of a piece of the past. He loved the sense of responsibility it implied.

He was enamored of the fossilization process as well as the aspect of discovery. For millions of years the bones, shells and teeth had been buried under the ground, only to be exposed by time and weather conditions. Then, through the chance somebody came along, working within a very short window of opportunity, who was able to recognize their importance, the remains were saved from certain rapid destruction by the elements.

Even more exciting to Barry was the potential of someone being able to ease the fossil out of the rock and, in a sense, revive the animal as it had been (without the skin and fur or feathers, of course). He wanted to be that someone; a preparator as he learned they were called.

It seemed magical as well as vitally important. These bits of former animal life provided a unique piece of prehistory. The result surpassed being merely a description or a picture in a book; the actual remains represented a real creature that had existed on Planet Earth.

In New York State at the time, paleontological treasure was primarily in the form of shell fossils; there were certainly very few vertebrate (animals with a spine) fossils. Barry collected some brachiopods—shell fossils of about 450-million-years old—in Upstate New York when the family visited the Catskills.

From one rock he found on the vacation, he was able to excavate and prepare a number of perfect shells. They were about one-half inch in diameter which, to a young boy, seemed extraordinary. As a result of his continuing interest, his parents took him, along with the shells, to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City.

Barry was very proud to have these fossils because they were so complete and perfect. He was certain the geologists and paleontologists who worked there would be impressed. The family toured the museum to check out the displays. One of the exhibits featured shell fossils from everyone around the globe; some were a foot or more in diameter.

It made Barry feel his collection was insignificant by comparison. So, although he was glad to have the examples he had found, it was obvious there were more and greater fossils in parts of the United States and throughout the world that he had never thought about before.

Barry’s collection was primarily limited to invertebrate material from New Jersey, Massachusetts and New York. By doing more research, he learned Wyoming and South Dakota, for example, had numerous fossil sites. His dream now, at ten-years-old, was to head out west. But it was a dream that would have to be set aside for quite awhile.

Barry’s World Expands

As he grew older, Barry became involved with other things. Animals, world peace and antique cars became major focuses. In fact, at one point he opened a British auto repair shop; friends Charlie Gerlach and Bob Lessig worked with him. But he still maintained the rock and fossil collections.

He often talked to his parents about traveling out west. They made it very clear this would only happen when they thought he was able to handle it alone. Barry realized waiting for their approval could well put him in his late twenties. So, without telling anyone, he applied for a passport and an international driver’s license.

The idea was to visit South Dakota and Wyoming, head to Mexico and then Brazil, find his way over to Africa, work at jobs in Europe and eventually return to New York. One Saturday morning when he was supposed to be going to work, he said goodbye to his folks as usual.

Pick up a quart of milk on your way home, his dad requested as Barry left.

Okay, the dutiful son replied.

However, Barry had packed up his car the night before and instead of going to work, he headed west and away from Long Island. A note, dramatically taped to his pillow, explained to his unsuspecting parents the need to leave and explore the world beyond.

At 19-years-old, he had never traveled alone before, so it was a bit scary. In fact, several times in New Jersey and again in Pennsylvania, he stopped to consider the wisdom of the decision.

But it was something now started and he wanted to go for it. He just knew there had to be greater opportunities and was determined to find out what and where they might be. The thought of looking back later with regret about not following through was motivating. Despite the lump in his throat and the stark realization that only the unknown lay ahead, he continued on.

In Illinois, Barry pulled into a rest area and noticed a friendly looking guy sitting at a picnic table. Based on the universal upraised thumb, it was apparent the guy was hitchhiking, although not very assertively.

As Barry prepared to leave, he invited the guy to ride along. It was a time when there was usually little question that a hitchhiker’s intention was to get from one place to another in the most convenient way.

Chester Colby lived in Colorado, but spent most of his time traveling around the country, doing nothing in particular. So the two traveled together and shared a number of significant adventures. It was a good partnership. Barry had the vehicle and Chester was knowledgeable about the countryside.

In South Dakota, they hiked out into the Badlands and decided to camp on top of one of the steep bluffs. It was so cold the canteen water froze. They built a small fire for warmth. Suddenly they were swarmed by what seemed to be birds attracted by the firelight. The winged visitors were, in fact, bats.

Thousands of bats! Definitely a new and somewhat frightening experience for Barry. They discussed the idea of climbing down the cliffs in an attempt to make it back to the car, but were discouraged by the moonless night. Instead, they opted to douse the fire and wait for daybreak.

In an attempt to warm up the following morning, Barry began running up and down the sides of the clay cliffs. At one point, Chester called out for Barry to stop right where he was standing.

Looking down, Barry realized he was on the edge of a severely weathered cliff. A single step more and he would have fallen, straight down, about 400-feet to sure death. Chester had saved his life and, as it turned out, it wouldn’t be the only time.

A few weeks later, the travelers went through Yellowstone National Park in the dead of winter. They saw great scenery and many animals.

In another close call, a large bear came running down from the woods toward Barry as he was hiking along one of the hot springs trails. Barry didn’t see the animal because it was behind him.

The first inkling of danger was when Chester and a group of hikers started yelling. Barry turned to see the beast lumbering along the trail, straight at him. He stepped aside quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid feeling the coarse fur brush against him as the bear passed by.

It took him a few minutes to catch his breath, especially when someone expressed how lucky he had been that the bear had a definite goal in mind which apparently did not include a human as a snack!

Visions of Long Island and home seemed more and more appealing. However, determined to make the most of the adventure, Barry took up Chester’s offer to show him some excellent fossil sites located right on his parent’s ranch in Colorado.

All Barry could think was, ‘why would anyone want to leave if they lived on this ranch?’ But to Chester, the road kept beckoning him away even though he always ended up back home; a case of wanderlust he was fortunate enough to enjoy thanks to accommodating parents.

Following a few days of rest and recuperation at the ranch, Barry headed for New York and the parents who were still overwhelmed at his daring adventure, even though he had called them many times during the journey. He was tired, but feeling more worldly-wise and elated about the fossils and rocks filling the trunk and back seat of the car.

One of the trip treasures was a big chunk of rock with a couple of teeth exposed. He had come across it in South Dakota on the ranch land of a family he met at the roadside store they also owned and operated.

(Years later, the father and daughter would be the first people Barry called about fossils when Prehistoric Journeys was a fledgling business. They were very helpful to us.)

When Barry got home, he visited Garvey’s Point Museum in Glen Cove, Long Island, to meet with the staff, show them the big rock and see if they could identify what he had found. They said there might be something in the rock other than the few teeth showing, but weren’t sure.

This was enough for Barry. Encouraged by the input, he raced home, took a small hammer and one of his mother’s large sewing needles and, for three days straight, worked at chipping the rock away.

The exposed teeth were the tip of the iceberg. Encased in the rock was an almost-complete upper skull of an Oreodont, a sheep-like animal that lived approximately 36-million-years ago in South Dakota.

It was Barry’s first vertebrate fossil. Not a shell, not a plant, but a mammal that once actually roamed the earth.

I was holding the skull of a gentle creature which had been born and struggled to survive in that harsh South Dakota environment, Barry recalled. My feeling about the upper skull, needless to say, was pure elation.

After the paleontologists at the museum saw what he had uncovered and prepared so well, they immediately offered him a volunteer position. He happily accepted it.

The museum staff visited the Hicksville house and spent hours examining the collection he had built over the years. They were overwhelmed, actually borrowing some pieces and putting them on display at the museum for several months. The exhibition filled eleven large cases!

Barry continued working with and learning more about fossils and rocks. Still, without formal schooling in geology or paleontology, he simply considered it a fascinating outdoor hobby. The first trip out west had definitely changed his perspective. He realized there was a broader spectrum awaiting him if he chose to pursue it rather than opting for a relatively predictable future on Long Island.

For several years, during two-week vacations from various jobs, he would travel to Wyoming, Colorado or South Dakota, often meeting up with Chester and other new friends. But he never reached the Pacific Coast.

The plans for every trip always included California. For one reason or another, but usually based on time limitations, he never made it.

California, Here I Come

Time moved on. Barry got married and divorced twice in the next couple of years. While the marriages didn’t work, his sweet dogs Rusty and Rocky were constant and reliable companions.

Animals had been a very special part of Barry’s life. He always tried to help them if they were sick or hurt or in need of a human friend, which had been the case with both Rusty and Rocky.

Barry wanted to get to California, but knew it required a vehicle that would give the dogs enough room to make the trip enjoyable as well as providing sleeping space.

One evening, on the way home from his job at a Datsun dealership, he spotted a bedraggled, old step-in van—a 1958 International Metro truck—behind a gas station.

The wheels were flat. The roof had caved in from leaning against the station. All of the windows were broken. The engine had been taken apart, but fortunately, the loose parts had been retained and were scattered all over the floor in the back of the truck.

When he saw the sad hulk, however, he realized it had the potential to be made into a perfect camper for him and the dogs. He bought it for $100 and had a rollback deliver it to the house, where it sat in the driveway for several weeks before he could find time to work with it. Naturally, his friends, brother and parents thought he was crazy. Nobody could figure out how in the world he would ever be able to put this broken-down pile of metal back together.

But, Barry had owned antique cars and totally rebuilt several of them by himself. Confidently, he started working on the truck; rebuilding the engine, fixing up the interior and generally giving it a major facelift.

Before beginning to bang out the dents, he stripped off nine coats of paint. The Metro van had been used for many different businesses, including a gas station, a plumbing company and an electrical firm, among others.

It took almost three months of dedicated work to finish the job. The engine now ran perfectly. The interior was outfitted for cozy survival on the road with a cooking galley, restroom, versatile sofa/bed, carpets and drapes. The exterior shimmered with a paint job in a deep forest hue.

Officially dubbed The Green Truck, it was ready for California! A few weeks later, Barry left his job and headed straight for his destination with no side trips to deter him from the long-time goal. The green truck, as he envisioned, was the perfect conveyance for the journey.

First he spent a few days in Los Angeles with the idea of driving up Pacific Coast Highway, staying in San Francisco for a while and then heading back to New York. On the road north, he stopped in Santa Barbara, a beautiful seaside community about 100 miles from Los Angeles and that was it for Barry. The town seemed to be an ideal spot to live!

A life-changing decision was made to return to Long Island, tie up any loose ends, come back to Santa Barbara and make a new start. He did exactly as planned; going back east ostensibly to tell his parents of his decision, pack up a few belongings and head back out. However, he didn’t make the journey back out to California by himself.

Rusty and Rocky were constant road buddies. But, even better this time around, Bruce and Barry’s maternal grandmother, Angelina Ruggiero, asked if she could come along and join Barry for the ride. She was in her seventies at the time.

She had always dreamed about traveling out west like the pioneers in their covered wagons. The reality was that she had never ventured much beyond New York State and had never been on an airplane.

Family members thought it was the wackiest idea they had ever heard, but Barry felt certain it would be great. They planned the trip and, within a few weeks, Rusty and Rocky, Nanny Ruggiero and Barry were prepared to hit the road in the green truck.

And Barry was right; the trip was wonderful. Nanny was the official map-reader, courageously riding shotgun on the extremely tall passenger seat. When they stopped at a campground in the evening, she would cook up batches of her famous spaghetti sauce on the tiny propane cookstove. The dogs, already excellent road companions, offered their usual loyalty and companionship. The most special aspect was that Barry had the rare opportunity to really get to know the matriarch of the family.

There was only one major glitch in the progress across country. The truck broke down and they got stranded in Flagstaff, Arizona, during a major snowstorm. Fortuitously, Barry was able to find a crankshaft in a junkyard a mile or so from the motel where they ended up staying. After physically dragging the heavy crankshaft back to the truck on a pallet, without assistance, he rebuilt the engine over five days with two feet of snow on the ground and continual blizzard conditions.

Barry found some used styrofoam packing panels and wedged them into three open sides of the undercarriage. They served as shields against drifting snow that threatened to cover him as he worked under the truck.

Finally, the truck was running again and off they went for the final lap of the trip.

On Thanksgiving Day, 1977, Barry, his grandmother and the pups crossed the border into California. They celebrated with a turkey dinner Nanny somehow put together in the little galley.

Two days later, they arrived in Santa Barbara and found a campground. Since Barry had worked as the parts manager at a Datsun dealership in New York, he figured perhaps he could get a job doing something similar in Santa Barbara. Checking the phone book, he was dismayed to discover there was only one Datsun dealership in the area.

Undaunted, he drove over to the dealership and, as luck would have it, there was a job opening up the very next Friday. The parts advisor was going to be leaving rather unexpectedly and the dealership had not even advertised the job in the paper. Barry was the first person to apply for the position and, based on his experience in New York, he was hired on the spot.

The next step was to get an address. Temporarily, he set up housekeeping in a trailer park near the new job because he was able to move into a space immediately.

Following a few days of sightseeing, his pioneering grandmother flew home to New York. She was thrilled to have accomplished two goals; traveling across country and flying on an airplane!

The green truck had been a better investment than Barry could ever have imagined. Not only was it his primary vehicle and home-sweet-home for the time being, but it was a safe place for the dogs to stay while he was at work. Most significantly, it had given Barry and Nanny Ruggiero the opportunity to enjoy an unprecedented level of bonding.

Shortly after her return to Long Island, it was announced to the family that she had advanced cancer. Barry always wondered if she was aware of the diagnosis before asking to accompany him on what she knew would be a strenuous, although exciting journey across America.

A few months later, Nanny passed away.

Bruce spent a great deal of time with her during those final months. Some years later, Bruce told Barry that, the whole time she was in the hospital, their nanny always talked about the adventures she experienced on the road trip.

Yes, the green truck had really paid off. It gave Barry the opportunity to start a new life and it had made a dream come true for Barry and Bruce’s grandmother. Its importance was to continue in increasingly amazing ways and, as of this edition date, it has been a vital part of Barry’s life for 35 years and counting.

Heading Back to School

Isn’t it amazing the way friendships mushroom? Working at Datsun, Barry met a number of great people and, through them, met other people and so on. Within a month in Santa Barbara, he felt totally comfortable and had rented a studio apartment overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

During an afternoon walk downtown, he came across a nature shop. He went in and met the owner, Jeff Marshall, who became one of his closest and most enduring friends. They started talking about rocks and fossils. After a few more visits to the store, Jeff invited Barry over to his house to see his impressive fossil and mineral collection.

Soon, they started going on digs to places Jeff knew about in the area. It seemed wherever they went, they found great fossils. For example, on one trip to the Central Valley, about two hours southeast of Santa Barbara, they both found turtle fossils dating back about 12-million years.

Jeff introduced Barry to a man named Bruno Benson, who had a truly incredible fossil collection at his home in Ojai, a lovely community south of Santa Barbara. Bruno and his wife, Opal, developed an extremely special friendship with Barry. They all spent hours talking about fossils.

Bruno was like Barry; he loved rocks and fossils from the time he was a little boy, but never had the formal training. His knowledge, however, was recognized and highly regarded by museum paleontologists and geology professors at some of the state’s most impressive museums, colleges and universities.

He told Barry he was even planning on setting up a small fossil and mineral museum through the Ventura Gem and Mineral Club, which he eventually accomplished!

Jeff, Bruno and Barry found it difficult to explain the emotion they felt when they were working with the fossils, but Barry summed it up this way, The wonder of holding something which lived millions and millions of years ago is an incomparable sensation. It often leaves me speechless.

Bruno’s collection included some unique tar bones he had found decades before, but they were not from the La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles. He had fossils of birds, some claws and the skull of a fox. All were dated more than 40,000 years old and all were impregnated with asphalt tar, which gave the impression of a glossy, coffee-colored, antique-looking bone.

They were the same kind of bones and the same age as the famous fossils displayed at the George Page Museum of the La Brea Tar Pits. But since no one is allowed to dig there, Jeff and Barry knew he had another source.

Bruno told the two enthusiastic young men the bones were from a tar seep on a friend’s ranch in the desert region of California. He explained that he and his rancher friend were the only people to have ever checked out the tar seep. Bruno was willing to make an exception and offered to take Barry and Jeff there!

The three men headed for the desert as soon as they could take time off work. At the site, they immediately found some teeth and claws. They returned a few more times to spend wonderful hours working in the tar seep. After a weekend of digging with Bruno and Jeff, there were often six or eight chunks of tar in the green truck.

Back at home, Barry would very carefully chip through the tar blocks until he found some bones. He would set them up on a big board in what had formerly been a small dining room; now it served as his first real fossil workshop. (He had rented a cottage, but the green truck was still his only means of transportation.)

He would pick out the tiniest mouse bones and minuscule bird vertebrae and take as much of the tar off them as possible, working with the precision and patience of a jeweler. After normal working hours the following week, he would run the bones through the heavy-duty solvent the Datsun service crew used to clean tools and parts.

In his dining room/workshop, the bones would then be laid out to dry until he was able to brush away any remaining chunks of tar the solvent had dissolved. Then, he and Jeff and Bruno would share them to use for lectures and displays.

Barry was promoted from the parts department to service manager, which was about as far as he could really advance in the car repair industry. His friends at the job started suggesting he go back to school for formal study. They recognized he seemed happier working with the fossils than being a service manager.

He had taken a year of college on Long Island, but dropped out to work at Garvey’s Point Museum. Going back now, after eight years away from academia, seemed impossible.

Two supportive friends, Columbus Williams and Bert Thorne, kept pushing.

His persistent pals would ask, Why don’t you go over to the college and check it out? They would suggest Barry at least see what kind of classes he needed to get a degree.

Jeff was attending Santa Barbara City College (SBCC) on a part-time basis. Barry wasn’t sure he was ready to jump into the commitment he knew attending school would involve. Regardless, he agreed to visit the geology department and see if they needed any help with fossils.

Bruno regularly helped out there. It seemed like a good opportunity for Barry to share his skills and possibly meet other people with similar interests.

One evening, he went over to the school with Jeff and met geology professor and department chairman, Dr. Robert Gray. He and his students were busy cleaning some large fossil shells from the Miocene era, which they had dug up on a recent field trip. There wasn’t too much for Barry to do, but he enjoyed meeting Dr. Gray as well as instructors Bill Harz and Karl Halbach.

A long conversation with Dr. Gray made Barry realize that going for a degree was not such an unrealistic idea after all. He decided to try to sell his prized antique car, a rare 1938 MGTA Tickford coupe, which was still at his parent’s house in New York. The thought was that, if he was able to sell the car before September, he would go back to school.

At the time, there were only six of these particular models in the world. Barry’s MGTA Tickford was one of very few in America. He had meticulously rebuilt everything after having it shipped over from England years before.

He and a mechanic friend decided to travel back to Long Island to pick it up. It took them two days to drive there and two-and-a-half days to tow the car back to California on a trailer. It sold quickly to a serious collector. Barry, feeling the bittersweet pangs of passing his beloved classic sports car along to someone else, enrolled at SBCC.

He took geology and general education classes the first semester just to get back into study mode. Luckily, he had a conscientious counselor, Mr. Pagliaro, who carefully arranged classes in a way that enabled Barry to earn an Associate of Arts (AA) degree in two years.

While in college, he became Geology Club president and looked for innovative ways to make the student body aware of what the department was doing.

He and the club’s vice president, John Luther, whom Barry met the first day at school, ensured the Geology Club was covered in the school paper as often as possible for the unique events they planned. For example, there was the club’s entry—two dinosaurs engaged in combat—in a county-wide Sand Castle Building contest. The group quickly became a highly visible and active entity on campus and won many awards for their work.

He and other students rallied to help one of the Geology Club members become selected as Homecoming Queen. The club organized a very popular annual event known as the Mucker’s Ball, so named to honor the people who move and load soil (or muck) in mines.

Barry organized field trips and took geology students, as well as lay persons, to check out geological formations. When they went on these trips, he always located interesting fossils or minerals to share and discuss.

His professors claimed he had a great eye and a sixth sense, which they felt was an amazing ability to zero in on rock formations at any of the places they visited or to deduce where a fossil might be located. This was partially because he had been practicing since early childhood, but it seemed to go beyond the mere aspect of practical application.

It was and still is uncanny to be hiking with him when he pauses, points out an average-looking outcropping several hundred feet away and describes a fossil, virtually invisible to the naked eye, embedded in the surface.

How does he do that? is a question many people have whispered in Barry’s company on a walk in the hills or along a beach. I defined his skill as BSP—Bone Sensory Perception!

Being Geology Club president provided Barry with hands-on training in organization and in the development and implementation of major activities. He made many friends, including Tom Yamada, Adriane Pratini and Joe McKinney, and came in contact with two incredible art students, John Iwerks and Larry Iwerks.

A number of these people, such as John Luther (and Kathy), Tom, the artistic Iwerks brothers (plus John’s artist wife, Chris) and others, including several of the original professors, are still friends of ours more than three decades later.

John Iwerks designed and illustrated the first Geology Department t-shirt, which was sold to finance club activities. Over the years, John has designed unique t-shirts, posters and dinosaur sculptures for special events in our life, for every one of our Prehistoric Journeys dino projects and to commemorate our homes in Santa Barbara, California, and Sunbury, Pennsylvania.

Geology Club stewardship would continue to serve Barry well when he organized the first-ever student run Mammoth Expedition at Sonoma State University, as he became involved in the animal movement, and, eventually, as we started our business, Prehistoric Journeys.

He was still driving the green truck to school, on field trips and even to parties. It wasn’t unusual for large groups—often as many as 16 people not including Barry and the two dogs—to pile in the back with guitars and banjos for a rousing sing-along as they rolled down a California highway to one event or another.

Remembering Rusty

At the time, the dogs, Rusty and Rocky, were Barry’s family. It was a situation of ‘know Barry, know his dogs’. Both of the canine companions were considered to