Fire and Stone

The recent and tragic fires around Los Angeles have prompted me to write about the connection between fire and stone. Vitruvius was one of the first to consider the connection. In his landmark De Architectura, or The Ten Books of Architecture, written sometime between 31 and 27 BCE, he wrote of travertine blocks. “They cannot be safeguarded against fire. As soon as they make contact with it, they crack apart and fall to pieces.” Instead he recommended the use of tuff.

Like the Greek philosophers Aristotle and Plato, Vitruvius considered that matter consisted of unique combinations of the elements water, earth, air, and fire, which gave an object, such as a stone, unique properties. Too much air and fire, according to Vitruvius, made travertine susceptible to breaking at high temperatures. Modern scientists point to the unequal amounts of extension and contraction along internal crystallographic axes in calcite for travertine’s poor performance in fires. Geologist Marie Jackson has found that tuff survives fire better than travertine because of its porous texture, which allows tuff to expand when heated with far less fracturing than travertine.

The problems caused by fire often drove building practices. In 1680, the General Court in Boston passed a resolution requiring slate roofs, after a fire destroyed 80 buildings and 70 warehouses. Others fire led to cities such as Boston, Seattle, and New York passing laws stipulating that new buildings be built with stone or brick. And James Flood’s brownstone mansion was the only building on Nob Hill to survive the fires that followed the 1907 San Francisco earthquake.

Former James Flood mansion, Nob Hill, San Francisco

The argument has also been made that Chicago’s Great Fire of 1871 helped make the Salem Limestone the most commonly used building stone in the country. Historians and promoters of Salem Limestone have written that the “buildings that suffered least from the fire were of limestone.” Newspaper accounts from the time, however, report that during the fire, limestone “seemed as though [it] actually burned like wood.” Builders were so prejudiced against the local stone, most of which came from nearby Joliet and Lemont, that in the first 30 days after the fire, most ordered brick, from as far away as Philadelphia.

Chicago Auditorium by Sullivan and Adler (copyright from Boston College professor Jeffery Howe)

The true qualities of the Salem—durability, accessibility, and ease of cutting—ultimately proved superior. By the mid 1880s, architects such as the high-profile firm of Sullivan and Adler had begun to use Salem regularly, most prominently on their Chicago Auditorium, built in 1887. Others followed, demand grew, limestone-laden trains bore north, and Salem buildings spread across the Windy City. By the mid-1890s, the Salem limestone was being shipped across the country, en route to staking its “most popular” claim.

The Getty Center (copyright David Williams)

Two months ago, another fire in Los Angeles made it into the news. This one threatened the Getty Museum. If the fire had engulfed the buildings, they would have put Vitruvius to the test. Travertine, and in fact, travertine from the same quarries that supplied Rome in Vitruvius’ time, clads the Getty’s buildings. Fortunately, fire fighters contained the blaze and no stone was harmed. I also suspect that fire fighting has improved a bit in 2,000 years.

Week Three of the Virtual Book Tour

Seven posts down and one to go on my virtual book tour. I have been pleased with the previous two weeks of my "travels." Last Monday, I was on Brian Switek's Laelaps, where we had a Q&A mostly oriented around Brian's interest in all things paleontological. Next up was an interview with Michael Bradbury that he posted as an audio file on his RealScience, where he referred to me as a "big stone kinda guy...not one to shy away from a nice chunk of gneiss." What more could I ask for? And then on Friday, I ended with a discussion about technology and transportation with Gina Hagler on Synthesis.

Today, my penultimate stop takes me overseas to England and a fun interview with Michael Welland's wife on Through The Sandglass. Her questions are a bit more literary focused than my other stops. (The above image is from the posting; it is one of many intriguing photos created on Michael's site.) I was particularly pleased to be able to talk more about Robinson Jeffers. And finally on Wednesday, I end up with a fun posting at Tom Furtwangler's bikejuju.

Once again, thanks for tagging along.

Alfred Wallace's Petrified Wood Tombstone

Today, I learned about another great stone tombstone. It is a several-foot-tall piece of petrified wood that marks the grave of one of my heroes, Alfred Russel Wallace. Wallace, who came up with his theory of natural selection while in a malarial haze, was buried at the Broadstone Cemetery in the town of Broadstone, about 100 miles southwest of London. He died on November 7, 1913, and despite some suggestions that he be buried next to Charles Darwin at Westminster Abbey, Wallace had a simple burial on November 10.

Three images of Wallace tombstone: From 1914, from 1999 (before restoration), from 2001 (after restoration). Oldest image is from James Marchant's book, Alfred Russel Wallace; Letters and Reminiscences. Modern shots both by George Beccaloni from his web site devoted to Wallace. Copyright of 1999 and 2001 images owned by George Beccaloni

His grave marker consists of a block of Purbeck limestone, often incorrectly called a marble because of its abilty to take a high polish, on which stands the petrified wood. According to a web site devoted to Wallace, the tree could have come from the Isle of Portland, which Wallace visited in 1894 with the famed American paleobotanist Lester F. Ward. The petrified wood on Wallace’s grave resembles a tree identified as Protocupressinoxylon purbeckensis, a conifer. These trees grew near a hypersaline lagoon in a Mediterranean-type climate of warm, wet winters, and hot, dry summers. The trees, many of which have been found upright, in situ, occur in the Great Dirt Bed of the Purbeck Formation. Deposition was around 146 million years ago.

In 1998, George Beccaloni, an entomologist at the Natural History Museum in London, visited Wallace’s grave and was surprised to find it in horrible shape. A tree engulfed the site and made it nearly impossible to see the plaque that mentioned Wallace. In addition the tree’s roots were pushing up the old marker. So in 1999, Beccaloni established the A. R. Wallace Memorial Fund to repair and restore Wallace’s grave.

With funding provided by a number of sources, Wallace’s site has now been restored and enhanced. The Fund added a granite block under the Purbeck limestone, to prevent further root encroachment, and placed a new plaque on the grave, which provides a few key details about Wallace’s life, including his contribution to evolution by natural selection. It is suitable way to honor one of the greats of natural history.

Week Two of the Virtual Book Tour

Three down and five to go in my virtual blog book tour. For those who missed the first three posts during the first week, here are a few highlights. On Monday, August 17, I had a Q & A at Clastic Detritus. My favorite question had to do with what was one of my favorite meals in Italy, lardo, onion, and tomato on crusty bread followed by a shot of espresso. As I wrote "Geologizing doesn't get any better than this." There was also a discussion of "stone miles" or what I call the "slow stone" movement.

My focus on stop two, at A Daily Dose of Architecture, was several recent buildings that make use of stone. Each of the structures, ranging from California to Boston to New Mexico, showcased the versatility of stone and how people use it convey emotion, history, and sense of place. John Hill, who hosted me, wrote: "I can only hope the book helps readers appreciate the depth found in building stone, a material I believe is in need of a resurgence at a time when smooth and shallow materials predominate in architectural design." I hope so, too.

And finally on Friday, Lyanda Lynn Haupt at The Tangled Nest, allowed me to write a blog for her. The discussion that followed focused mainly on the fine words interfingering and intercalating, two words I trust that everyone will want to be using soon and often.

This week I start on Monday at Laelaps with another Q & A, followed on Wednesday, with an audio interview at Real Science. I end this week at Gina Hagler's Synthesis, where I discuss technology and transportation in the stone industry. I hope you can come along on the ride. It's been fun so far.

The Virtual Book Tour of Stories in Stone

Greetings all. My new book Stories in Stone: Travels Through Urban Geology has now been out for about seven weeks. It has been exciting to see the response to it from friends, colleagues, fellow geologists, and people I don’t know. One response I did get was the suggestion of putting together a blog book tour, where I visit with other bloggers and discuss my book. In that light, I wanted to send out an advance notice that my tour will start next week.

My first stop will be at Clastic Detritus on Tuesday, August 18. Brian Romans has been kind enough to also give advance warning of the tour with his post today. He will also post a review of Stories in Stone on August 17, followed by our Q&A on Tuesday.

From Brian and his sedimentary focus, I turn on August 19 to architecture with John Hill’s A Daily Dose of Architecture. John sent me links to a variety of buildings that use stone and asked for my commentary on them.

I end the week, August 21, at my friend Lyanda Lynn Haupt’s The Tangled Nest. I will be writing a post for her tying together our interest in being urban naturalists, a topic she writes about in her wonderful new book, The Crow Planet.

On Monday, August 24, I return to geology with a Q&A on Brian Switek’s Laelaps. Brian has also kindly posted a review of Stories in Stone.

Two days later, August 26, you can hear my interview with Michael Bradbury, the driving force behind the web site Real Science. During a 45-minute-long interview we chat about deep time, granite countertops and radiation, and whether science influences the use of building stone. You will have to listen to find out the exciting answer!

At the end of the week, August 28, I head to Gina Hagler’s blog, Synthesis. Given Gina’s focus on looking at everything from sports to birds to writing, I am sure our discussion will be engaging.

Next, I head (well virtually) across the Atlantic on August 31 to Michael Welland’s Through the Sandglass. A fellow author, Michael has written the well-received Sand: The Never Ending Story.

And finally, to end the tour, on September 2 I get to bring together two passions of mine, bicycling and stone, on Tom Furtwangler’s colorful and ever enjoyable bikejuju.

Please feel free to hop in at any time and join the discussion. I look forward to hearing from others.

Brownstone Tombstones

Continuing my theme of tombstones, I would like to turn to a singular grave marker in Middletown, Connecticut, just across the border from the old brownstone quarries in Portland. I believe this may be the only tombstone with dinosaur tracks on it. It honors Joseph Barrett, an M.D., though judging from the stone, he was equally as proud to be a botanist and geologist. Who wouldn't?

Barrett was well known in the area for his passion for tracks. His obituary in the New York Times read "So deeply was he engaged in this work that he neglected his profession and became a monomaniac on the subject of bird tracks. He saw all manner of fossils in city walks which no other eyes were able to see, and in his peregrinations about the town would stop suddenly, look at a stone, bring out a sheet of wrapping paper and, laying it out on the walk, draw upon it whatever his fancy painted, write the place where the stone lay and date its discovery." Oh, to be able to see those drawings!

Barrett also regularly supplied tracks to Edward Hitchcock, who taught at Amherst College and is considered the father of ichnology. Hitchcock never could admit that dinosaurs made the tracks; birds were the track makers.

When Barrett died, according to brownstone historian Alison Guinness, the local quarries donated two slabs of stone. You can find the facts on the smooth face. You can also see how brownstone weathers, peeling off layer by layer like sunburned skin. The back side, though, is the face to explore. Several three-toed tracks can be seen crossing at angles to each other. The most obvious one is just to the left of center, next to a round white lichen. Another one is a few inches down and to left. They have been designated as Grallator formosus and Brontozoum sillimanicum.

The back side of Barrett's tombstone. Note the various tracks of three-toed dinosaurs.

The second slab, which the first sits on, has two tree casts. In addition, you can see where it says "The Testimony of the Rocks." This book, written by Scottish geologist Hugh Miller and published the year after his death in 1857, is a curious combination of anti-evolution but supportive of a great age for the Earth.

Together these two slabs are certainly a wonderful tombstone testimony to the passion of a man for the stone and the fossils he loved.

Tree Stump Tombstones

As noted in my previous posting, slate does have a long history as a wonderful tombstone material but my favorite tombstones are the ones carved from Salem Limestone. At Green Hill Cemetery in Bedford, Indian, a pair of six-foot-tall tree stumps with interlocked broken branches memorializes Mammie Osborn Maddox and Alonzo Maddox. Stone flowers “sprout” from the base of her tree with ferns “growing” from the base of his. Nearby stands the tombstone of Hattie Wease, who died in 1912. Her tree stump rises from a stack of horizontal, cut logs. Above her name are an axe and mallet, carved with precise detail into the stone.

Other stumps depict vines climbing the bark, a lamb at the base of a child’s tomb, doves nesting on branches, or frogs hiding in foliage. Not purely decoration, each design has symbolic meaning. A broken branch represents a life cut short. A frog alludes to resurrection. Doves symbolize peace. These are shibboleths, codes that united individuals to a larger community. Even in death the residents of limestone country looked to stone to forge a common bond.

My favorite carving of all though honors Louis Baker, a 23-year old stonemason, who died in April 1917, when lightning struck him at home. His co-workers sculpted an exact replica of how Baker left his work bench. On the upper edge of a slanted stone slab, they carved his metal square. Below rest a narrow drove and a stub-handled broom, one edge of which abuts a foot-long point. A wider chisel leans atop a hammer that just touches the sharpened end of the point. Nearby is the apron he tossed onto his mallet. The slab sits on another slab, propped on a bench so perfect in detail of the wood that one of the “boards” warps and others have cracks where someone, perhaps the young stonemason, had overtightened the bolts holding together the planks.

The bench moved me not only because it reveals the qualities of stone—90 years of weathering have not removed the details of individual straws of the broom, but the bench also reveals the qualities of the men who worked the stone. Yes, they could carve elaborate and beautiful pieces, but to honor one of their own the men of limestone country produced a monument that reflected gratification in working with simple tools, pride in their trade, respect for their co-workers. Neither fancy nor symbolic, Baker’s tombstone is utilitarian and straightforward, qualities that made Salem Limestone America’s building stone.