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Philip Spiess
Dale: I stand corrected. I was merely repeating from the 1960s report of the scientist who analyzed the material of every one of the six sets of Washington's false teeth (scattered in various collections). He may not even have said "ivory" (his report is buried in my consultancy files somewhere); he may have said "tooth" or "tusk" or "bone" -- but he was adamant that the particular set of false teeth I was curating was made from "hippopotamus" material. A number of other sets were, if I recall, made from walrus tusks. (Paul Revere, as you may know, made several sets of Washington's false teeth, but not the one I was working on; it was made by Dr. John Greenwood.) What never occurred to me until just now, when you made your statement, was: "Where did any American get hippopotamus 'stuff' from in the mid to late 1700s -- and how?"
Okay, Collett, you remind me of the story of Lord Droolingtoole, an elderly and doddering member of the House of Lords, who, after an autumn afternoon of bagging small game, driven toward him by servants in the home park of his Midlands estate, has settled down to relax and refresh in a seriously large cast iron lynx-footed bathtub of hot water in the private rooms of his ancestral mansion. His man (valet), Smithers, waits upon him. The warm water has its expected effect, to relax him, and an unexpected effect, to bring into a sudden state of tumescence his membrum virile (I'm trying to be subtle here, because I'm a scholar of the Old School -- oh, wait; Walnut Hills is our old school!). The valet, noticing this, tactfully and discreetly inquires, "Shall I call milady, m'lord?" And Lord Droolingtoole, scowling, responds, "No, Smithers; bring me my baggy tweeds. I think I'll smuggle this one up to London!"
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