Mice in the Freezer, Owls on the Porch: The Lives of Naturalists Frederick and Francis Hamerstrom

13 Hamerstroms’ Kingdom: The Complexities of Success

The quest must be so difficult, and promise such long and devious paths, as to hold out no assurance of ultimate success. —Aldo Leopold Hammy’s reputation was by now secure. His early papers were called classic; his reputation among colleagues was secure, and a growing recognition came from academics. One later summed it up: Hamerstrom has been the epitome of the crack game biologist. His research has been spread over ring-necked pheasants, bobwhite quail, gray partridge, white-tailed deer, muskrats, horned owls, sandhill cranes, sharp-tailed grouse, snowy owls and short-eared owls. Its main thrust was on Wisconsin’s prairie chickens. . . . [His] technical publications number over 50. Two of these . . . involved a scattering of permanent grassland brood-rearing areas in the breeding range of this species. The state in 1957 was not at all ready to purchase these areas and take them off the tax rolls. With Hamerstrom’s encouragement , the free-enterprise system stepped in, and at a cost of hundreds of thousands of dollars has now set aside over thirteen thousand acres for prairie chicken management. As the direct result of this magnificent and unparalleled effort, there are now about four thousand chickens in Wisconsin. . . . their highest numbers since 1950–1951. Hamerstrom’s keen critical mind has long been utilized by editors of The Journal of Wildlife Management. . . . The man is a super scholar who scorned . . . academia to save a game species that others were ready to write off.1 Fran too had achieved some renown. She was seen as something of 194 13 Hamerstroms’ Kingdom The Complexities of Success a phenomenon, but her publications and contributions to the field were beginning to be noticed. Their daily life, however, remained simple and consistent. The crack biologist and superscholar got up first, tended the stoves, made the coffee, and listened to the early morning weather roundup on WLBL, Auburndale. The regular cranberry bog report there advised him of conditions on the marsh. Hammy always dressed to go outside, even to the outhouse: socks, shoes, trousers, shirt, jacket, and—in winter—his long heavy scarf. After breakfast, he retired to the office, emerging at noon when Fran called for lunch. Their daughter remembers, “Meals were often silent. We all read at meals. They didn’t have any other time for their New Yorkers.” Spring, as Hammy allowed, was demanding. He wrote, “It is now midnight, lacking only seven minutes. Please excuse delay in thanking you for the letters and slides. Spring this year was the latest ever, and our wonderful society unexpectedly produced seventy-five guests to fit into the booming schedule. . . . I’ve just been so dead for sleep for so long that I let a lot of important things wait. My apologies.”2 Fran managed a varied schedule with her customary energy and flair. Surprisingly, once the pattern of booming was routine, she did research of her own: “It had to be low profile,” she said, “but I had always been interested in birds of prey. Hammy and I had published a study of what young raptors ate when we lived in Michigan. Now I needed a project of my own. After so many years as a wildlife biologist , I tired of having people ask me if I was interested in birds too!” 3 Two chapters in My Double Life, “My First Falcon” and “Will She Die without Rangle,” describe her stubborn, secret, and ingenious beginnings as a falconer. At the public library she found a rare book, and in the face of a suspicious librarian, deciphered the old English enough to find key words: austringer, jess, creance, musket, and rangle.4 About her falcon she said, “For part of my life, she was my whole world,” and she managed that world in her own way. It is customary to carry the falcon reins in the left hand; she always used the right. She found nests in Iowa; and in Necedah conducted the hawk census, counting seven species. Now she returned to that passion. Even during the booming, she could squeeze her study into free moments between the thirty hours Hamerstroms’ Kingdom 195 each week of departmental assignments and her role as chief cook. In booming weeks, that meant producing hearty breakfasts and second breakfasts for observers, plus fixing lunch and supper for the family , crew, or the unexpected guest. “Hammy got used to my inviting strangers for lunch.” She started keeping hawks...