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SPOTLIGHT |
| The first 20% of the full text of this article appears below. |
The following essay is a result of two recent conversations: one at 32,000 feet, the other on the phone from my office. Each by itself was unremarkable. When taken together, however, they hint at a potentially troubling issue facing paleontology today.
The first occurred several months ago somewhere over Nebraska. I was returning home from a conference when I struck up a conversation with the passenger next to me. Upon learning I was a paleontologist, he was full of questionsexcellent questions. He first asked about dinosaurs, to which I explained that I study clams (he hid it well, but I could sense his disappointment). For nearly half an hour, we discussed the finer points of bivalve shell growth. Later in the flight, he surprised me by asking about the Burgess Shale and why the animals were so strange. I was impressed: he knew a good deal about paleontology and asked fundamental questions (I knew nothing about his occupationfinancial planningand I still don't, much to my wife's chagrin).
The second conversation was more recent. I contacted a former graduate school classmate, now a postdoctoral researcher in geochemistry at a major research university. After explaining that I intended to write about paleontology's place within the geosciences, I asked him what he thought the major research question was in paleontology. "I really have no idea. Evolution, I guess?" I was amazed; he had no idea what our discipline even did. I thought, now this is a problem.
Here's the troubling issue. Does the lay public have a better idea of the questions paleontology is addressing than do our geological colleagues? I realize this question is based solely on anecdotes. The guy on the airplane could have been a ringer, but he is not my main concern. In fact, I am delighted that
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