In 1995 I was a leader for a 4-H club called “Our Heritage”. The club had a group of boys that were around 13 years old - and like all boys that age, they loved to brag and boast.

We somehow got on the topic of my anthropology major. One of the boys piped up and asked me if I had ever seen any “real bones”. I told him that I had, and all of the boys assured me that they had also worked extensively with human bones.

I thought it would be fun to test this theory, so I went to the anthropology department at my university and asked if I could borrow a skull. I knew the department had a number of skulls, and since classes had just ended for the year, it seemed like a reasonable request since it would be used to educate young people. My professor had no problems with this, and provided me with one human skull and mandible - each in their own little purple velvet bag.

I was driving my mother’s Geo Metro (Suzuki Swift), and was pulled over by a police officer just outside of Peterborough. The officer was polite enough, and asked for my license, insurance and registration. I asked him why I had been pulled over; turns out that they had run the plates on the car, noticed that it was registered to a female (my mother), and just wanted to make sure it wasn’t stolen.

No problem, I thought. I explained that it was my mother’s car. He checked me out and said that everything looked fine. Just as I started to roll up the window, he asked what was in the velvet bag on the passenger seat.

There are a few moments in everyone’s life when they know that the answer they give to a question may have considerable consequences. I slowly put both of my hands on the steering wheel and replied, “a skull”.

“A skull?”

“Yes officer, a skull.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. I asked the only reasonable question my 19 year old brain could muster: “Would you like to see the skull, officer?”

“Sure.”

I opened the bag gently and rested the skull in my lap. I took the mandible out of the other bag and held the jawbone up to the skull.

And in a moment I can describe as either hysterically funny or lacking cosmically in good judgment, I said “Hello, officer!” in a cartoon voice as I moved the jaw with my hand to make the skull “talk”.

The officer was baffled. We sat in silence for at least ten seconds before he asked me, “Umm … where did you get this skull?”

“At the university”, I responded as matter-of-factly as I could.

“May I see your ID again?”

I handed him my drivers license and my student ID card.

He went back to his car. I could see him on the radio in animated discussion. I expected him to emerge from his car with his gun drawn at any moment; after about ten minutes, he returned looking half-bemused, and half-annoyed.

“Well, we called the university and you seem to check out OK”. He shook his head and said, “The guys at the station are on the floor laughing. Go ahead, and drive safely”.

And I went on my way with the skull safely tucked back in its little velvet bag.

As forthe 4-H club? The collective gasp that went up as I slid the skull out of its bag is something I’ll remember for a long time. We had a great discussion about physical anthropology and osteology and how long it takes for a corpse to decompose to a bare skeleton, and the skull was safely returned to the school a few days later.