I’ve seen Einstein’s brain. It had been sliced and diced. Chopped up in a million tiny pieces. The piece I saw was perfectly preserved on a slide magnified behind a glass case. I saw it about a month ago in a medical museum in Philadelphia. “If I stand very close to Einstein’s brain, will that make me smarter?” I asked my friend Richard. “Doubtful,” he said in exactly the same way the Magic 8 Ball replied when I was eight and asked it whether I would ever be rich and famous.
The Mutter Museum in the City of Brotherly Love also contains a huge number of skulls. When you think you’ve finally gotten used to the sight of skulls, you have to take a breath in your mind. Because there are about thirty more skulls to go. On the skulls are legible handwriting that describes the person the skull belonged to in brief pretty script. “Barbary Coast pirate,” read one skull. The expiration date for the person was listed on the skull just as you might see on a carton of milk.
What would someone possibly write on my skull if it was donated to science and displayed in a glass case full of other skulls? I have no idea. I hope it would be flattering. I find it hard to come up with something that might be relevant to a person peering at a large glass case of skulls. I’d like for my skull to stand out from the large display and sound noble and heroic. I haven’t discovered a cure for cancer or developed a rocket system that will send people to other planets. So, that’s out. I’ll have to do something noteworthy fast if I want a prime position in a crowded case of craniums.
The Silver Line 