The_Resurrectionist_The_Lost_Work_of_Dr

ending his arrangement with the American Carnival. From an article published in a Philadelphia
medical journal in July 1884:
… He would show ordinary bones from excavations, ordinary remains of a goat or
a lion, and tell us that he had discovered evidence of the Sphinx; he lectured
endlessly, poring over the smallest details in the bone, revealing its secrets, secrets
I could never see—none of us could. Now he travels like a common charlatan,
displaying his dolls and trinkets as proof. If I stitch together a monster, does that
prove its existence? Dr. Spencer Black is a ranting lunatic; he is never content, he
continues to see things that do not exist. When a falsehood is coveted long enough,
it becomes the truth that sustains its own existence. He is a madman!
In late 1884 Black famously delivered this response:
—Dr. Joab A. Holace
Dr. Holace,
I have delayed the writing of this letter. I know that I am no longer in your favor.
I was surprised to hear that you have championed the destruction of my reputation
and are unflinching, unrelenting and merciless in your opinion of me.
My dear Doctor, it isn’t I who is fanciful and lacking the courage to lay my
sights on the true and determined path of thought––but instead, it seems, it is you
who is unable and, moreover, unwilling to be ardent in the knowledge that you
know not.
I gave you an opportunity to see beyond yourself, beyond your small world and
science. I gave you a chance to participate in the greatest anthropological
breakthrough any surgeon could have ever dreamed. It is with elation for the
preservation of my work and sorrow for the loss of what was once a great
friendship that I say farewell to you.
—Spencer Black
On May 3, 1884, Spencer and Elise had a healthy baby boy named Samuel. But the joy of his
arrival was cut short by tragedy; their second child, Victor, fell ill for several weeks and died of
typhoid fever just four months after Samuel was born. Spencer writes about the event in his journals,
dated September 1884:
My dear sweet angel, my dear sweet … Now he is passed on with his sister,
Elizabeth. I, his governor, his father, could not stop him from going; what will come
of my other children? Will I be as helpless, when they fall ill? With all that I have
labored, and the proficiency that I’ve gained with my toil, with all the knowledge
that I have acquired––measurably more than an ordinary learned man––can I not
save my own children? I may just as well kill with my own hands.
Can I only bear witness to death? Can I not share in the glory of life?
Unhappy with the success of the anatomy show and grieving the loss of his son Victor, Black