Survival of Sidney Mintz
I first met Sid when he was
doing research in the 1970s in the tiny library of my fledgling institution,
the Monell Chemical Senses Center – then part of the University of
Pennsylvania. At Monell we study taste and smell and of course this was
directly relevant to Sid’s interest in sweetness but also more broadly to his
interests in food. So over the years we occasionally met to discuss food,
taste, flavor and – of course – the pleasure of eating. My approach was much
more biological than anthropological and this made for some good debates. I was
never quite sure that I was able to convince him that human liking for sweetness
was innate. But I think it is telling that the title of his seminal book was
“Sweetness and Power” not “Sugar and Power.” This attests to the central role
of sensory perception in the remarkable role sugar has had in human society
about which he wrote so insightfully.
One year I invited him to
give an after dinner talk at our annual gathering for financial supporters at
the Penn Museum. I had arranged for Sid to be at my table and before his talk I
got the opportunity to tell my favorite anthropology story that had slightly
touched me personally.
This is the story briefly:
At the time this happened I was working with Mary Douglas (of “Purity and
Danger” fame), who was in the U.S. at the Russell Sage Foundation. For
complicated reasons my wife Fay and I were invited up to her apartment in New
York because she wanted us to impress another guest whose support she needed at
the Foundation. That guest was John Buettner-Janusch. Although I recall we did
our best, I am sure he was unimpressed – and the feeling was mutual. It was one
of the most unpleasant dinners I ever had, in spite of Mary’s attempts to keep
things on the light side.
After that dinner, Fay and
I often talked about how disagreeable we found Buettner-Janusch as a dinner
companion. Then one day a year or so later, we heard that he had been arrested
and put in jail for misusing federal funds. I can’t say we were totally
surprised. Then I got to the part of my story (which I am sure most
anthropologists know quite well) where Buettner-Janusch is paroled and proceeds
to send poisoned candies to the judge who sentenced him. The judge’s wife
consumed some of the candy, became ill, but thankfully did not die. The FBI got
involved, found his fingerprint on the tape that was used to wrap the candy, and
identified Buettner-Janusch as the culprit. He was re-arrested and sent back to
jail, where he eventually died.
At this point in my story,
Sid speaks up: “Did you know that poison candies were sent to others?” he
asked. I said no. He said, “I also got a box of that candy!” Remarkably, Sid
then proceeded to complete my story – candies were sent by Buettner-Janusch to
Sid’s address, but he was away and the students who were living there put them
in the refrigerator. So luckily, they were never eaten. One of my proud
possessions is a well-worn copy of “Sweetness and Power” with the following
inscription: “For Gary Beauchamp from the anthropologist who nearly didn’t make
it (!) with best wishes. Sid Mintz.” Thank goodness!
I last saw Sid a year or so ago in Baltimore, at the home of a mutual friend, Jim Albrecht. The company was certainly much better than at Mary Douglas’s apartment. After a bit of prodding, I induced Sid to tell this story to the others at the dinner table from his viewpoint. His laughter while recounting it was infectious, and the strange irony of the connection between the sweetness and power of Buettner-Janusch’s candies did not go unnoticed. I should finish this with a recipe for candy but unfortunately I don’t have one, certainly not one with poison although we are now being warned that sugar itself is poison.
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From left: Gary Beauchamp, Sid Mintz,
Fay Beauchamp
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