CRAIG CONLEY (Prof. Oddfellow) is recognized by Encarta as “America’s most creative and diligent scholar of letters, words and punctuation.” He has been called a “language fanatic” by Page Six gossip columnist Cindy Adams, a “cult hero” by Publisher’s Weekly, a “monk for the modern age” by George Parker, and “a true Renaissance man of the modern era, diving headfirst into comprehensive, open-minded study of realms obscured or merely obscure” by Clint Marsh. An eccentric scholar, Conley’s ideas are often decades ahead of their time. He invented the concept of the “virtual pet” in 1980, fifteen years before the debut of the popular “Tamagotchi” in Japan. His virtual pet, actually a rare flower, still thrives and has reached an incomprehensible size. Conley’s website is OneLetterWords.com.
Here's a precursor to those candles that smell like old books. "Aroma de l'antique" and other scents of yore are actually excavated, as we learn in Wheaton College's 1921 yearbook.
The grave of a doctor (er, disease manager) who accidentally took one of his poison prescriptions. From the Medical College of Virginia's 1914 yearbook.
Crossroads burials are traditionally chosen so as to confuse the troubled spirits of suicides, preventing them from finding their way home to haunt their relatives (John Stilhoe, Common Landscape of America, 1580 to 1845).
The headline reads, "Tombstone at the crossroads." From The Martlet, 1968.
A tombstone-worthy sentence diagram: "If an inscription be put upon my tomb, it may be this." From Manual and Diagrams to Accompany Metcalf's Grammars, 1901.
For fear of a caretaker pulling back the ivy and showing us our own tombstone again, we visit cemeteries only when nobody's around. From Together, 1957.
A wish for you: if you're ever trapped within a mirrored tombstone, may there be a reflective sheet of glass nearby so that you can at least see things unreversed. From Centenary's 1974 yearbook.