When Science Goes Bad: The killer bee--or how we hoped for more honey, but, yeah, that didn't pan out.

Science performs a multitude of greater good for humanity. But there are those fleeting times science goes off-the-rails in head-shaking, sigh-inducing fashion. This is where we point to those great moments mistakes in science.

Today:  That time bees were bred to make more honey, but instead became "killer" bees.


In the late 1960s and 1970s, American media reports exploded about the impending arrival of bees from South America so frightening and deadly that the United States would have chaos on their hands.

Bee-themed horror movies became all the rage. There was 1966's The Deadly Bees, 1974's more dramatic Killer Bees, and by 1976 the point was really driven home with The Savage Bees. Not to be outdone, 1978 produced a bumper crop of schlock with The Swarm (starring Michael Caine!), Terror Out of The Sky, and the rather bland-titled The Bees, but with the added tag of "They prey on human flesh!" You didn't know bees prey on flesh? You do now.

It's very helpful of the bees to avoid her eyes.

Who hasn't been attacked by bees while wearing a bikini?

This fear sweeping America all began innocently and harmlessly twenty years earlier and 6,000 miles away, rooted in an earnest attempt to improve honey-production in the Brazilian Amazon forests.

It's not that bees don't exist in South America. They do. Bees exist on every continent except Antarctica. Yet, some bees produce honey in greater quantities than others, partly based on their environment. But one such environment that they struggle in? Brazil's Amazon--and here is where the problem evolves.

In 1956, Professor and biologist Warwick E. Kerr looked to create a bee species that could withstand the strenuous Brazilian climate while producing significantly more honey. What he came up with was a blend of the western honey bee (aka: European honey bee) and the East African lowland honey bee. This appeared to be a perfect blend of talents. With the western/European honey bee, one had a fairly docile species with an abundance of honey production. Meanwhile, the East African honey bee produced less honey, but could withstand heat and humidity in South America.

The one caveat is that the East African honey bee--for lack of a better phrase--has a bit of an attitude when provoked, but kept their attitude in check as their own species.

This is not how the bee feels about your breakfast.

At his apiary outside Rio Claro, Sao Paulo, Brazil, Professor Kerr interbred the two species of bees, using queen bees from South Africa and Tanzania, and creating dozens of well-contained swarms for analysis. It was during this analysis that research noted one Tanzanian queen bee led to an interbred hive that seemed rather hostile and defensive, more so than expected or common.

Nonetheless, Kerr and his team utilized a "queen excluder" in the enclosed hives--a device used to allow access for traversing worker bees, but not the larger queen. Everything seemed to be working wonderfully. Multitudes of swarms bustled, a new species appeared feisty, and all of this was kept under strict examination.

That is until October of 1957, when one simple mistake occurred. According to Kerr, a visiting beekeeper believed the "queen excluder" was making life difficult on the worker bees. This visiting beekeeper, being a kindly gentleman, removed the "queen excluder" to alleviate worker bee difficulties--and in the process accidentally unleashed 26 swarms of the new bees into the wild.

And that was that.

Run, Michael Caine! Run for your life!

The newly developed bee species (and 26 "daughter queens" from the original Tanzanian queen) ran freely into Brazil, displaying its now overly-developed sense of hostility, and interbreeding with other western/European bee species long native to the continent. Rapidly they swept country to country throughout South America, moving into Central America in 1982 and Mexico by 1985.

And, as Hollywood feared, they finally arrived in the United States, too. By 1985, they piggybacked on oil field machinery arriving in California. Then, in 1990, the first permanent colony was discovered in Texas.

Oh, who ticked them off?

Were they as fearsome and deadly as believed? Did they kill at random? Were they worthy of low-level, low-budget horror movies with or without Michael Caine? Well, yes and no. When provoked, the "Africanized bee" (not to be confused with the "African bee") are highly defensive of their hive, they swarm in much greater numbers, and have more "guard" bees than other bee species.

This leads to occasional chaos. As the BBC News Magazine reported even in 2014, random chance encounters led to a swarm of 30,000 bees attacking a couple in Texas and killing their miniature horses, 40,000 bees killing another man in the Lone Star state, 100,000 bees attacking park employees in Florida (who survived), and an estimated swarm of 800,000 killing a man in Arizona.

In 2019, a New Mexico town closed a park after two employees survived an attack. As US News & World Report mentioned, "Officials say the town will let the bees calm down and seek a bee expert to remove them." Yes, sometimes even bees need a breather to relax.

And reports within the last year keep coming:

An attack in Pasadena, CA, where fire fighters were swarmed.

Two men died in Crossroads, TX--one while mowing his lawn--after separate attacks.

A Code Red was issued in Breckenridge, TX, after a swarm bombarded a person, while citizens were told to shelter in their homes.

Four dogs were swarmed in San Tan Valley, AZ, with one dying from an attack.

And it goes on and on and on and on...

Are the bees angrier and deadlier than other bees? Yes. Will you likely ever encounter a swarm? No. Were all the movies warranted? No. Did Michael Caine look for a quick buck and easy paycheck? Probably.

The intentions were good. Science looked to make a heartier bee that would still produce honey. Instead, it made an angry bee that sometimes needs to let off a little steam. And it all occurred because a visiting beekeeper one day wanted to help the worker bees stretch their legs a little bit.



As a side note: Michael Caine wasn't the only celebrity to appear in The Swarm, just the lead actor. Oscar winners Olivia de Havilland and Henry Fonda made cameos as well. It was a veritable who's who of money-grabbing celebrities.

A box office failure, The Swarm was actually nominated for an Academy Award for Best Costume Design, so, if anything, everyone in the cast looks dashing.

Famous Writers with Dogs: Agatha Christie

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet dogs.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their canine companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.

Today:  Agatha Christie

You know when older people get one of those claws to grab stuff off high shelves? Yeah--this is sort of like that.

Your guess is as good as mine as to what Agatha is trying to do, though. She always loves creating a good mystery, amiright??

The sheer look of panic by the dog suggests this is an average Saturday afternoon in the Christie household, though.

Famous Writers with Cats: Philip K. Dick

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet cats.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their feline companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.

Today:  Philip K. Dick

Considering Philip K. Dick's stories have been made into movies like Blade Runner, Minority Report, and Total Recall, there's a strong chance this cat is just some sort of android that had vengeance and murder on its mind. Look at it. You can't tell me that cat wasn't wondering about murder.

Okay, and maybe catnip.

The Weird History of College Mascots: Stanford University really is afraid to make a decision and stay with it.

Some colleges have perfectly boring mascots with no history outside a public relations-approved cartoon character. Other colleges have histories--often weird--behind their mascots. This is where we recount the oddities.

Today:  Stanford University and their inability to decide upon much.

For a university that is so discerning to decide who joins the student body, Stanford University seemingly can't decide much else.

You know that person at a restaurant who can't decide whether they want steak or fish? That's sort of like Stanford. Let's explain:

Shortly after the university opened its doors in 1891, the school's color was going to be gold. This was quickly abandoned after a school assembly then chose cardinal. (Don't simply call it red. Stanford folks will wave an "Oh, hell no!" finger in your face if you call it red.) Local sports reporters gravitated toward cardinal whenever reporting on the university's football team, so the color stuck.

Woooo! Feel the excitement!

Choosing an official mascot became a larger problem though. Indeed, for the first 40 years of the school's existence, they never adopted one.

By 1930, seemingly at random, Stanford chose to call themselves the Indians. Their own website explains that--uhh, well, uhh, funny enough--they have no explanation for how Indians was chosen. For one of the world's supposed elite universities, it seems to have trouble keeping track of its own history. Their best guess is that--perhaps--since rivals at the University of California-Berkeley chose to be called the Bears, Stanford chose the Indians.

If you're asking what's the correlation between bears and Indians--(((shoulder shrug)))--your guess is as good as Stanford's.

Good guess.

By 1972, through student activism, the school's mascot of the Indian was replaced because of concerns over cultural insensitivity. As a result, Stanford started looking for a new mascot. Huns, Sequoias, Trees, Cardinals, Spikes, Railroaders, and Robber Barons were all proposed. Yes--the Huns. The same nomadic people of the 4th, 5th, and 6th century made popular by Attila the Hun. That's a man who really got a party started.

All proposed ideas were rejected, including Huns. But for a school that most recently charged $51,354 for tuition and fees, the idea of Robber Barons as a mascot feels like a missed opportunity.

Six years later, in 1978, students proposed the mythological griffin (lion and eagle hybrid) as a mascot. The university rejected that as well.

Sort of like a Harry Potter mascot, but less lame.

Instead of a griffin, Hun, or Robber Baron, Stanford spent the duration of the decade going by the nickname of Cardinals. Specifically, they meant a pluralization of the color, NOT the bird. Yes, the cardinal bird is cardinal red, but Stanford was determined to be known by color only, yet plural. In 1981, the university's president officially adopted the color cardinal as representation of the school's athletic teams. A color as nickname, but not a mascot? Pluralization of colors? These are the sorts of philosophical debates you never imagined having.

This bird wants to know why Stanford be hatin'.

Meanwhile, the university's student band adopted a tree as their mascot. Not just any tree, but a very specific 1,000-year old Sequoia named El Palo Alto which is located in--you guessed it--Palo Alto, CA, where Stanford calls home. No one said anyone was terribly creative here.

Still, the university refused to adopt the tree or the band's interpretation of El Palo Alto as mascot, because apparently a tree is too crazy as a symbol. It's no Hun after all. Yet, the band still uses a fairly frightening wide-eyed looking tree as their mascot, where it remains running around the sidelines of football games and confusing generations of students as to why a costumed tree exists in the first place.

Oh, Jesus, the tree is loose again.

Today, Stanford goes simply by the singular Cardinal--the color, not the bird--as its nickname, with no mascot, no representation to be had.

But down deep, when we look back at it all, we all sort of wish they called themselves Attila.

Famous Writers with Dogs: Langston Hughes

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet dogs.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their canine companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  Langston Hughes

This looks like an ad for some off-brand cologne for men, the type that's sold at a suburban mall kiosk, where the bottles say "Tuscany," but the smells say "Tampa."

The old saying is dogs look like their owners. But in this case, what if the dog looks like Langston Hughes' poetry? Lean, stately, and more beautiful than your own?

Famous Writers with Cats: Jean Cocteau

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet cats.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their feline companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  Jean Cocteau

Mr. Whiskers has had enough Cocteau for one day. If you had to listen to him babble about avant-garde novels all the time, you would, too.

Look at those murder claws! There's a 50/50 chance Cocteau was bleeding from his pelvis ten seconds after this photo was taken.

Famous Writers with Dogs: Enid Bynton

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet dogs.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their canine companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  Enid Bynton

That's right. That's how all the best writing occurs. Outside on a couch, with a typewriter plopped on your lap, two backseat writers draped over you, and Fido performing deep tissue massages.

That death glare Fido gives Nosy Nancy, though--it's almost like he's holding Enid back from lashing out.

Famous Writers with Cats: Haruki Murakami

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet cats.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their feline companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  Haruki Murakami

The cat's face says panic, but Murakami's sense of style says mimosas and $50 Eggs Benedict.

I'm not sure why we're in a carpet store, though. Everyone knows white cat hair is going to do a number on those rugs.

The Friday Poem: If God Is A Dog, by Erica Jong

As another week concludes, we end with a random poem. Famous poets, obscure poets, amateur poets, whatever poets--just a poem to cap off the week.

Like this one:


If God Is A Dog, by Erica Jong

If God is a dog drowsing,
contemplating
the quintessential dogginess
of the universe, of the whole
canine race, why are we
uneasy?

No dog I know
would hurl thunderbolts,
or plant plague germs,
or shower us with darts
of pox or gonococci.
No. He lies on his back
awaiting
the cosmic belly rub.
He wags his tail signifying
universal love.
He frolics and cavorts
because he has just
taken a galactic shit
& found it good.
All dogs are blessed;
they live in the now.

But God is all too human.
Somehow we have spelled his name
wrong, got it backward,
aroused his growl.

God drowses
like a lazy old man
bored
with our false
alarms.

Not to be outdone by Mark Twain, E.B. White's old house is for sale as well.

If you're looking to buy a famous writers New England farmhouse, but Mark Twain's humble $1.85 million Connecticut abode doesn't do it for you, drive deeper into the northern reaches of New England and there you can take a gander at E.B. White's $3.7 million property now up for sale in rural, coastal Maine.

Like Twain, E.B. White's former shack is a sprawling farmhouse--although White's has a literary connection beyond the author himself. The property includes the barn that inspired White to write Charlotte's Web.

Located in North Brooklin--or roughly a five hour drive northeast of Boston--the 44 1/2 acre saltwater farm sits beside the Atlantic with 2,000 feet of shore frontage. Included is a boathouse, a pond, meticulous gardens, and the aforementioned barn, which includes the rope swing mentioned in the book.

Never to let an animal-inspired moment pass unnoticed, PETA has reached out to the real estate agent in charge via a press release, asking that "the owners convert the home into an empathy museum for pigs, complete with a vegan café offering veggie sausages, vegan BLTs, and more."

Wait--PETA isn't done yet with ideas. The organization continues:

"E.B. White's portrayal of a pig named Wilbur inspired people all over the world to take a closer look at the animals they consider to be 'food' and go vegan," PETA President Ingrid Newkirk wrote. "A PETA museum in his historic farmhouse would help visitors see that every pig is some pig, an intelligent individual and not a collection of sausages, bacon, and chops."

Okay, well, we know that isn't happening. Forget the vegan angle. PETA must be anticipating literally tens of people to drive five hours from civilization to have a veggie BLT.




photo: Mark Fleming / Yankee Magazine

California library is using dogs to find hidden bed bugs.

Lover of bites and books.

Who knew bed bugs were such fans of literature? You always figure they're just traveling around hotels, when in reality they're lovers of the literary scene.

The Buena Vista Branch Library in Burbank, CA, has taken to using trained dogs to sniff out hidden bed bugs in its building. The apparent infestation has been going on longer than officials care to admit, so they've taken to using dogs to sniff out the visitors.

"[The department of public works has] tried various techniques, various kinds of sprays and deep cleans, but they're just really hard to get rid of because they could be hiding in books, the carpet or in the [seat] cushions," library services director Elizabeth Goldman told the Los Angeles Times.

"That branch is extremely busy, so there's always warm, welcoming hosts for the bugs sitting in all the chairs," Goldman continued.

Warm, welcoming host. You've probably never been called that while entertaining friends for dinner, but you can now be called it as a bed bug's dream date.

"All was well for about six months, but then, in May, a patron who was sitting in one of our comfy brown chairs had a very strong reaction to some bug bites," Goldman said.

Goldman needs to get into used car sales, because she's somehow selling the appeal of the library despite--you know--bed bugs. Case in point? A "strong reaction to some bug bites" is usually not how one defines a "comfy chair."

In the meantime, the dogs continue their search.

Famous Writers with Dogs: George Orwell

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet dogs.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their canine companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  George Orwell

Nothing says it's a great beach day quite like wearing a suit under a blanket while huddling with your dog.

Fido looks like he's pondering his life's decisions that resulted in his ending up half buried under Orwell's body.

And is that a cat over Orwell's shoulder? Another dog? Did Orwell bust out a whole kennel with him to the seaside?

Famous Writers with Cats: Edward Gorey

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet cats.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their feline companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  Edward Gorey

Who spiked the water supply?

This wouldn't be the first time that some of Gorey's work put someone to sleep.

Apparently the photographer moonlights as a ninja in their spare time, as they somehow managed to keep everyone asleep while snapping away with their camera. The Bruce Lee of photographers? The Bruce Lee of photographers.

Famous Writers with Dogs: John Cheever

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet dogs.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their canine companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  John Cheever

John Cheever is the snappiest dresser for casual photo shoots on the beach you'll ever see. The tux must've been at the dry cleaners.

And just look at the jealousy on the face of the old dog in the background. Cheever has betrayed the poor thing by cozying up to the attention hog down in front.

Famous Writers Shirtless: Ernest Hemingway (with dog)

Writers are never known as the studliest or sexiest of people, but that doesn't stop them from showing some skin for the camera once in awhile.

So, occasionally we'll post some literary beefcake for your perusal.

Today:  Ernest Hemingway

Is Hemingway wearing shorts here? Is he nude? I fear he's going commando and letting things just air out. The New York Times might be doing us a great service.

With that face of confusion, you just know that dog has seen things it wishes it could un-see.

Famous Writers with Cats: Patrick White

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet cats.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their feline companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  Patrick White

What's going on here? Is Mr. Whiskers smiling for the camera? Sneezing? Maybe he's just trying to mimic his owner? One thing is for certain, Mr. Whiskers is probably reveling in that deep chest massage.

Couldn't a guy with the last name "White" get, you know, a black or brown cat, though?

Famous Writers with Dogs: Robert Frost

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet dogs.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their canine companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  Robert Frost

Even the dog can't look. Avert your eyes!

Frost is lounging like a frat boy over the armchair with his pants tucked up underneath his armpits. Having pants do that breaks at least seven laws of science. Physicists are still studying how this happened.

The dog just knows it as Tuesday in the Frost household.

Famous Writers with Dogs: Edith Wharton

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet dogs.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their canine companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  Edith Wharton

Naturally, this is how most people pose with their dogs.

From their sheer lack of any facial expression, you just know this isn't the first time these dogs have been forced to do this.

Judging by the sleeves on that dress, there's a solid chance Wharton has three or four more dogs stuffed in there.

Famous Writers with Cats: V.S. Naipaul

Writers need inspiration somewhere in life, and for many that inspiration comes from their pet cats.

This is a running series where we post pictures of famous writers with their feline companions--the cute, the cuddly, the creepy. And that's just the writers.


Today:  V.S. Naipaul

Mr. Whiskers' eyes are pleading for you to intervene.

Little known fact: This is how doctors recommend you hold newborn babies as well, like a slab of salami.

With all the blood rushing to Mr. Whiskers' head, he probably passed out ten seconds after the picture was taken.

The Weird History of College Mascots, No. 1: Tufts University, P.T. Barnum, and Jumbo the Elephant

Some colleges have perfectly boring mascots with no history outside a public relations-approved cartoon character. Other colleges have histories--often weird--behind their mascots. This is where we recount the oddities.

Today:  Tufts University and the circus

On one side we have a fledgling Tufts University prior to its 1852 opening looking to add individuals to its Board of Trustees.

On the other side we have P.T. Barnum, one half of the famed Barnum & Bailey Circus, who was looking to be philanthropic.

Here the two shall meet.

P.T. Barnum looking for another sucker.

Tufts was looking to add board members, and turned to the wealthy and famed showman to help prop up their institution. Barnum didn't want to leave a legacy of simply being an entertainer, so he happily obliged, donating $50,000 (more than $2,000,000 in today's money) to the school to have a museum and hall for the Department of Natural History.

Meanwhile, in 1860, purportedly on Christmas day in what would be modern-day Sudan, an elephant was born. After its mother was killed by hunters, the elephant was sold to an Italian animal dealer. The young elephant made its way to Trieste, Italy, then stops in Germany and a French zoo, before landing at the London Zoo in England.

It was at the London Zoo that the elephant gave visitors rides, mainly children. Seeing how smart, docile, yet large, the elephant was, the keeper, Anoshan Anathajeyasri, gave the elephant the name Jumbo. The name potentially has roots in Swahili, maybe "jumbe," which means "chief."

In 1881, Barnum & Bailey Circus purchased Jumbo from the zoo for a then-$10,000. So distraught were the children of London at the thought of losing Jumbo, Queen Victoria received over 100,000 letters asking for her to intercede.

She did not. Jumbo headed to America.

Jumbo late in life.

For the next four years, P.T. Barnum showcased Jumbo in order to make his investment money back. Jumbo (and other elephants) were paraded over the newly opened Brooklyn Bridge to show it was strong enough. Jumbo also was featured at Madison Square Garden. People flocked to see the famed "biggest elephant in the world."

In the end, Jumbo's time in America was short-lived, even if his history has been long-lasting. On tour with the circus in St. Thomas, Ontario, in 1885, while moving the elephants across a rail yard, Jumbo died. The reasons are varied and vague, filled with as many facts as there is dramatic fiction. Most sources agree Jumbo tripped crossing some tracks, and probably impaled himself on his tusk, killing himself instantly. To further compound his death, a locomotive came down the track and couldn't stop in time, hitting his seemingly lifeless body.

The scourge that is rail yards strikes again.

The romanticized version of the story is that a small elephant named Tom Thumb was lingering on the tracks. Jumbo, being the bright animal he was, hustled to push Tom Thumb out of the way as the locomotive burned down the track, and that Jumbo tripped in front of the train saving the smaller elephant. Is there any validity to the story? It was 1885 after all, and P.T. Barnum was involved. Barnum always loved a good story.

To benefit a bit more by Jumbo's death, Barnum had the elephant's corpse separated. In time, the skeleton ended up at New York City's American Museum of Natural History, while the heart went to Cornell University. The hide was stretched and stuffed to try and mimic the original Jumbo, and it was donated to Tufts University.

Stuffed Jumbo years before the fire.

A fire at Tufts in 1975 destroyed the hide, but they had already adopted Jumbo as their mascot by then. Ashes believed to be the hide of Jumbo were placed into a peanut butter jar, where they remain today in the athletic director's office. Only a piece of Jumbo's tail, which was taxidermied when Barnum separated Jumbo, remains in a display case at Tufts.

Today, Barnum Hall still exists on campus, while a monument of Jumbo was erected at the St. Thomas, Ontario, rail yard in 2006, 121-years after his death. New York City's American Museum of Natural History maintains Jumbo's skeleton to this day as well, a donation from Barnum they have never parted with.

And Tufts University has fully embraced the image of an elephant, of Jumbo, as their mascot.

Tufts University campus today.

It is not the most common of mascots to be had for a modern day university, but the common denominator is Jumbo's impact. The bright, docile, fantastically large animal that made children beg a queen, that drew crowds around the world, that made a wealthy P.T. Barnum even wealthier--the giant that spent its life in captivity--remains in the consciousness of those his path crossed 132-years later.

If anything should be a mascot, if anything should represent a school, it should have meaning. And few mascots have the meaning quite like Jumbo the elephant.