House Finches and the Prescient Charles Aiken

In a somewhat roundabout fashion, the three House Finches (Haemorhous mexicanus) shown below led me to Charles Edward Howard Aiken (1850-1936), an accomplished practitioner of 19th century ornithology and entrepreneur.  (Seen here are a male at lower right, female center, and a juvenile (?) upper left.  If, by some slim chance I've misidentified the bird, it doesn't really affect the course of this post.)  The spark that prompted my research voyage of discovery was in the species portion of the bird's scientific name:  mexicanus, suggesting what was the animal's original home range.  That I spotted these birds near a pond in Maryland suggested that there was a story to be uncovered here.

The guides I initially consulted to identify these birds offered a tantalizing bit of information in that regard.  Here is part of what David Allen Sibley says about the House Finch in The Sibley Field Guide to Birds of Eastern North America (2001):

Native to western North America; introduced to Long Island in the 1950s and from there colonized all of eastern United States and southern Canada.  (p. 412)

"Introduced to Long Island in the 1950s" - strikingly cryptic.  A later stop on my search was the entry for the House Finch in the Cornell Ornithology Lab's Birds of the World which elaborated a bit and made the bird's story more irresistible (A. Badyaev, et al., House Finch (Haemorhous mexicanus), version 1.0, 2020.  In Birds of the World (A. F. Poole, Editor). Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Ithaca, NY, USA.):

From a few California individuals released from a pet store in New York City in 1939, and through natural expansion of its western range, in just a few decades this species came to occupy one of the widest ecological ranges of any extant bird. Originally a bird of hot deserts and dry open habitats of the southwest, it now occurs in nearly all types of landscapes and climates in North America, from edges of northern taiga to ocean coasts to metropolitan areas.

(Taiga is the boreal forest which, in North America, is the biome of most of inland Canada and some of the northern United States.)

Here is the map of the present range of the House Finch appearing in Birds of the World:

Yes, the two sources just cited differ in terms of the timing of the first appearance of the House Finch in the eastern U.S., and, frankly, neither is as entertaining as the possibly true explanation of how this bird came east.  In brief, that account has New York City pet store owners releasing the birds in 1940 ahead of a crackdown on their illegal trafficking in the animals, which had been sold as "Hollywood Finches" (the new name was a neat PR gimmick) and supplied to them by dealers on the west coast.  This version is described in some detail by Nicholas Lund in his article titled The House Finch (Audobon Magazine, The Sketch, July 15, 2016).  Even more detail, though not always consistent with Lund, is provided by John J. Elliott and Robert A. Arbib, Jr., in their piece titled Origin and Status of the House Finch in the Eastern United States (The Auk, volume 70, Issue 1, 1953, Digital Commons @ University of South Florida, September, 2024).

I searched for early 20th century guides to birds of the southwest U.S. to see what they might say about the House Finch and its range at the time.  Here is the range map that appeared in Field Book of Birds of the Southwestern United States (Luther E. Wyman and Elizabeth R. Burnell, 1925, p. 173.):

Wyman and Burnell noted that the House Finch was "a bird of familiar habits, cursed for the damage he does to fruit, but on the whole probably more beneficial than injurious."  (p. 172)

Comparing the two ranges maps shown above confirms that Badyaev et al., in Birds of the World, captured well the incredible spread of the House Finch across much of the U.S.

Yet, perhaps the most important find from my web search for early guides to southwestern birds was an initially puzzling hit, linking to what turned out to be a fascinating publication from Colorado College in 1937 titled Birds of the Southwest by Charles Edward Howard Aiken.  (Colorado College Publication, General Series No. 212, Studies Series No. 23, March, 1937.  The Aiken material was edited by naturalist Edward Royal Warren.)

This is not a guide to the birds of this region of the country, at least, not in any traditional sense.  Rather, much of it consists of the edited journals Aiken kept during a single trip in 1876 by mule-drawn wagon from Colorado Springs, Colorado, south into New Mexico, west across New Mexico to Arizona, and then south in Arizona.  His trek began on May 8, 1876, and ended with his return to Colorado Springs, probably in late November of that same year.  The objective of his journey:  collect birds and birds' eggs.  So, he shot and skinned birds as he went, and pilfered nests for their eggs.

This was ornithology as it was largely practiced in the 19th century.  Shoot and skin.  The rarer the bird, the more the incentive to collect its carcass.  It wasn't until the early and mid 20th century that the practice of ornithology moved from killing to observation.  Interesting and brief discussions of this change as it was sparked by some leading ornithologists can be found in two articles that appeared recently in Smithsonian Magazine:  The Hero who Convinced His Fellow Ornithologists of the Obvious:  Stop Shooting Rare Birds and Watch Them Instead (Tim Gallagher, Smithsonian Magazine, December, 2024) and How Bird Collecting Evolved Into Bird-Watching (Tim Birkhead, Smithsonian Magazine, August 8, 2022).

Though Aiken's journey undoubtedly fed the fledgling taxidermy business he began in Colorado Springs in 1874, and likely supported some trade in birds' eggs, it also reflected his deep interest in, and knowledge of, birds of the region.  Further, I suspect Aiken had a thirst for adventure, something that had manifested itself in the many birding trips he undertook beginning in1872, trips that built his avian knowledge.  That he was already recognized for this ornithological skills was evident by his work in the summer of 1874 as a naturalist with the Wheeler Survey (1872-1879), a survey organized by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to create topographical maps of the southwestern U.S.  In 1876, Aiken was certainly no birding neophyte.

In addition to his taxidermy business, Aiken was, at various times in his adult life, the owner of a "tannery and wool pulling factory," an employee of a firm selling pianos and sewing machines, the agent booking traveling shows, and a dog breeder.  His collection of some 5,000 bird skins and mounts were purchased and donated to the Colorado College Museum (subsequently donated to the University of Colorado (Boulder) Museum of Natural History).

(The biographical information about Aiken comes from the profile written by Edward Warren and included in Birds of the Southwest, and from the biographical description included in the finding aid to Aiken's collected papers held by the Colorado College.  The finding aid was written by Ginny Kiefer and published in September, 1984.  Her biographical material is based on Aiken's obituary that appeared in the Colorado Springs Gazette, January 16, 1936.)

Aiken is pictured below in 1874 in Pueblo, Colorado, sporting what may well be the equipment favored by 19th century birders.

(The date and identification of the location of this image are those provided in Wikimedia Commons.  The image is in the public domain.  This and other pictures of Aiken can also be found at a digital archive at the Colorado College website.)

His account of his 1876 trip is at times quite compelling for his interest in natural history was broad and, despite that fact that he had no apparent compunction about killing his quarry, he was a perceptive observer of birds.  As a record of what he saw and where, the journal is valuable (Edward Warren provided a catalogue at the end of this volume), though at times, the many names begin to blur.  This is balanced by his descriptions of the behavior of different bird species which are typically detailed and clear (certainly this was knowledge he needed if he wanted to get off a good shot).  Beyond the birds, he had an appreciative eye for the landscape through which he was traveling, noting changes in the vegetation, particularly the mix of trees, that marked differences in altitude and climate.  His prose never quite rises to the lyrical, but is frequently evocative.

The trip was arduous, often over roads that, I suspect, were roads in name only, and through areas with little water or vegetation.  During the summer months, the weather was particularly hot.  At one stage, he was seriously ill for several days.

While on the outward portion of his journey, Aiken entered Albuquerque, New Mexico, and there found a multitude of House Finches.  What he penned in his journal about this encounter is amazingly prescient, reflecting an understanding of the bird and its potential to live outside its native range of "hot deserts and dry open habitats of the southwest."  (As described by Badyaev, et al., in Birds of the World.)

At Albuquerque the Red-breasted Carpodacus (House Finch) was breeding abundantly, placing its nests on the beams of the plaza.  By the kindness of the hotel keeper I was allowed to secure a nest with three eggs from his building.  These birds are very tame, and as they are sweet singers and of bright plumage have quite a cheering effect about one's dooryard.  If they could be induced, as I think they could, to adopt for their homes the parks of our eastern cities they would be far preferable to the pugilistic foreigner (P. domesticus) [House Sparrow].  I think the former possess all the latter's good traits and none of their bad ones, and their pleasant song and bright plumage would make them much more attractive.  (p. 17)

(His disparagement of the House Sparrow is well taken because that bird is relentless in its efforts to control the nesting areas it prefers, driving out and killing members of other species that might attempt to occupy the same niches.  (See, for example, North American Bluebird Society, NABS Factsheet, House Sparrow Control, revised 2018.)  I'm with Aiken in thinking the House Finch is preferable to the little terrorist House Sparrow.)

When I compare the two range maps shown earlier, I wonder if any of the New York City pet store owners in 1940 who, one step ahead of the law, opened the cages and freed their Hollywood Finches, had any inkling of the consequences of what they were doing.  Aiken would have known.

Fossils and Glitter

I found a thought-provoking juxtaposition of fossils and that ubiquitous element of children's art - glitter - in a recent edition of the daily newsletter from Nature (Nature Briefing, October 14, 2025).  This issue highlighted the magnificent dinosaur trackways recently discovered in the United Kingdom.  Toward the end of the newsletter, the "Quote of the day" (a frequent feature) had the following statement:

A glitter container is never really empty.

A pretty sure way to grab this reader's attention.  The source of that quotation was an article about Edwin Jones, a forensic scientist well versed in the crime-solving attributes of glitter.  As we all know, glitter, once let loose, contaminates nearly everything and everybody.  Turns out, that can be quite helpful in linking individuals and objects to a crime scene.

Putting those two stories together reminded me of a passing comment I'd made long ago relating criminal forensic science to paleontology, specifically the subfield called ichnology, the study of trace fossils.  (See the post titled Ichnofossils and Old Home Movies, November 8, 2009.)  

It's useful to consider what we mean by forensic as an adjective and forensics as a noun.  The Latin root of forensic means of, or related to, the Roman Forum or with the courts of law.  (Oxford English Dictionary.  Sorry, it hides behind a paywall.)  The adjective was first used in English in 1647 and, in keeping with the Latin root, was applied to something associated with court proceedings or appropriate for use in court.  In the 1800s, the noun forensics was applied to the kind of rhetoric intended to argue or assert a point in a law court or in debate (particularly collegiate debate).  In the late 1800s, forensic science began to take on the meaning that, as a rabid consumer of TV shows featuring crime scene investigations, would expect of it (first use in print in 1893):

The provision of scientific evidence and testimony in legal proceedings; (in later use) spec. the application of scientific techniques and knowledge to the investigation of crime.  (OED.)

The article cited by Nature for the "Quote of the day" was written Jacqueline Detwiler-George.  It's a fascinating introduction to Jones and the role of glitter in forensic science.  (Inside the Glitter Lab, Popular Mechanics, September 26, 2025.  This article also resides behind a paywall.)   The article's hook is a fairly graphic account of the rapes committed by the Simi Valley rapist and the role Jones and glitter played in securing the death penalty for the perpetrator.  The investigator determined that glitter in the hair of a murdered victim was rather unique and he was able to trace it to the perpetrator's truck.

Detwiler-George identifies an important distinction in forensics between trace analysis and DNA analysis (forensic biology).  Of trace analysis, she writes:

In reality, it can include analyzing an absurd variety of materials.  It could be flame accelerant, explosives, cosmetics, carpet fibers, tree bark, hairs, shoe prints, clothing dirt glass fragments, tape, glue and, yes, glitter.

The latter, forensic biology, has come to dominate the field, relegating the former to the sidelines, partly because trace analysis requires expensive tools while DNA analysis has, I would surmise, such probative value.

It is trace analysis that really gave forensic science its original impetus.  Detwiler-George quotes the late Robert Blackledge, a forensic chemist with the Naval Criminal Intelligence Service (NCIS):  "Trace evidence analysis is the oldest kind of scientific crime-solving technique in existence."  One of the foundational beliefs for criminal forensics is the principle first enunciated by Frenchman Edmond Locard (1877-1966):  "Every contact leaves a trace."  I may be easily impressed, but I find that the Locard Principle profound and applicable well beyond crime scenes.

Having read about the glitter expert Jones before reading stories about the newly found dinosaur trackway, I found myself focusing on the steps being undertaken by the paleontologists to reconstruct the scene as it was in deep time.  Not a crime scene, I will admit, but, still, the impulse to reconstruct the events of so long ago, is, I think, akin to that undergirding criminal forensics.

I don't believe I am taking it too far to suggest that a variant of Locard's principle is at play in ichnology which works with fossilized evidence of ancient activity.  The fossil trackways described in the Nature newsletter are really spectacular examples of ichnofossils, which, in this case, date from some 166 million years ago.  (The link in the Nature article was to Rebecca Morelle, et al., How a Huge Dinosaur Trackway Was Uncovered in the UK, BBC News, October 14, 2025. See, also, Will Triggs, New Dinosaur Highway Dig Reveals Record-Breaking Footprints, EarthSky, October 15, 2025, and Oxford Researchers Return to the Jurassic Highway, University of Oxford, News, October 14, 2025.)

Clearly, the present day scene of the trackways (a quarry in Oxfordshire, United Kingdom) has been changed beyond recognition over the millennia, but the Locard principle - that contact leaves traces - still applies.  Not only were the tracks squished into the mud of the lagoon traversed by dinosaurs in the Late Cretaceous and then fossilized and preserved, but other traces of life and elements in the environment from deep time have also been retained at the scene.  Instructed by the glitter forensics article, I was particularly attentive to how the paleontologists uncovering, preserving, and analyzing the trackways took a broad view of the scene.  In this instance, they were not solving a crime, rather, they were reconstructing the events at a scene, and doing so without any eyewitnesses.  As a result, they have, as would good forensic scientists, to determine what messages the objects and traces found at the site could tell them about the events that had occurred here.

The trackways were found at the Dewars Farm Quarry and they are quite amazing, the longest stretching for 220 meters or 721 feet - the length of nearly 2 1/2 football fields.  They are the tracks of multiple individual Cetiosaurus dinosaurs, a massive herbivore, joined by a single trackway of a Megalosaurus, a large bipedal carnivore.  Certainly, paleontologists have experience with dinosaur tracks and can identify the likely animals that made them.  Still, unless the fossilized remains of the animal are found in conjunction with the fossilized traces, there's always some room for misidentification.

The paleontologists are attempting to reconstruct what the scene 166 million years ago was really like and, broadly, what happened here.  Duncan Murdock, one of the leaders of the project working on the trackways, has noted:

Unlike fossil bones, finds like these tell us about the behavior of extinct animals.  The size, shape and position of the footprints can tell us how these dinosaurs moved, their size and spreed.  And where trackways cross, we get a glimpse of the potential interactions between different species . . . .  (Triggs, EarthSky, emphasis added.)

The scientists determined the direction in which the animals were heading by careful study of the footprints.  At the front of each print is a protrusion which was left as the animal shifted its weight to the front of its foot when taking a step, squishing out some of the mud in which it was traveling.

Based on the number of footprints, Murdock observed that were "tens of individuals" crossing the muddy lagoon and, if, as is possible, they were present at the same time, what was captured by the trackways was herding behavior.  (Triggs, EarthSky.)

The single Megalosaurus track intersects the track of one of the Cetiosaurus dinosaurs leading to some speculation about the context and meaning of this interspecies encounter.

Reconstructing the scene has required looking for, and analyzing, evidence beyond the prints, and that evidence is emerging.  The paleontologists have found fossils from marine invertebrates, plants, and part of a crocodile jaw, and work is ongoing to analyze the content of the sediments under and in the prints.  (University of Oxford News.)  Murdock captures well the objective:

Along with other fossils like burrows, shells and plants we can bring to life the muddy lagoon environment that dinosaurs walked through. (Triggs, EarthSky.)

In the end, I wonder if ichnology, in general, might be termed a form of forensic paleontology?  At a minimum, it seems to be a field in which some of the methods of forensic science are applied to fossils in an effort to describe and, perhaps, explain the behavior behind fossilized traces of activity.  In other words, to reconstruct a scene and the events that took place there.

For a fascinating look at how some paleontologists have applied the analysis methods used in forensic entomology, I would recommend the article by paleontologist Kenneth S. Bader and colleagues describing their analysis of a cache of dinosaur bones from the Jurassic found in Montana.  (Bader, et al., Application of Forensic Science Techniques to Trace Fossils on Dinosaur Bones from a Quarry in the Upper Jurassic Morrison Formation, Northeastern Wyoming, Palaios, Volume 24, 2009, p. 140.)  We're all familiar with the forensic scientist on TV extracting a beetle larva from a corpse and announcing how long the body had been exposed to the elements.  That's forensic entomology at work, bringing to bear on a crime scene the understanding of when and how insects and other arthropods will work on the flesh and bones of dead animals, what evidence they leave of their presence, and what that evidence says about the environment in which the body lay.

Based on the evidence gathered by using these forensic techniques, the authors describe in wonderful detail a scene from millions of years ago:

These events were initiated during the dry season, and were likely part of a prolonged drought, based on our interpretation of the levels of articulation for each of the sauropod skeletons, bone modification features found on those skeletons, and previous interpretations of the Late Jurassic paleoclimate recorded by the Morrison Formation [citations omitted].  The evidence suggests that sauropods were drawn to this area for its water availability over an extended period of time.  Fossils of turtles, fish, crocodiles, snails, and bivalves support the notion of a relatively permanent body of water.  A prolonged drought is thought to have occurred based on the different conditions of the sauropod skeletons, which suggest that the area was not resubmerged with differential burial of the skeletons.  Only after all the sauropod skeletons accumulated, the soft tissue decomposed, and the bones were bored, did the drought end and the accumulation of skeletons was buried.  A short duration of pedogenesis [the formation of soil] took place before additional sediments covered the area of the skeletons likely through a period of regular succession of wet-dry seasonal climates.  (p. 156)

All that's missing is an explanation of the glitter found at the scene.

What's In a Name (Scientific or Otherwise)? Pedigree of a Large Shark Species

For this post, I found myself considering the value and significance of names.  Perhaps inevitably, I turned to Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, in which Juliet asks "What's in a name?"  She, in love with Romeo, renounces the family feud that separates them, sorrowfully lamenting:  "''Tis but thy name that is my enemy."  To her, these names - Capulet, Montague, Romeo - are just words, not the essence of the beings bearing them.  In the context of this play, it's a sentiment that resonates with the reader or playgoer, though, in that regard, Juliet is so sweetly and so frightfully naive.  To Capulets and Montagues, their family names have meaning, defining who they are and where they stand.

That latter aspect of names is essentially the thrust of this post:  the various names that a particular fossil shark tooth in my collection bears, depending upon the authority consulted, signals where that species of shark is thought to fit into the broad genealogy of the several very large shark species.  Scientific names are not merely words composed of Latin or Greek phrases; they carry meaning.

My local fossil club recently held a meeting focused on fossils from the Lee Creek Mine in North Carolina.  There is in my collection of fossils, a large, beautiful shark tooth from the mine that I obtained through a club auction.  Lee Creek Mine, a surface extraction phosphate mine and a renowned source for fossil shark teeth, hasn't been open to collectors for many years.  The formations from which the fossils come include the Pungo River (Lower Miocene) and the Yorktown (Early Pliocene).  My specimen is from the Yorktown.

On its longer side, the tooth crown measures 1 3/4 inches (44 mm) on the slant.  The edges of the crown are smooth, with no hint of serrations.  As evident in the picture, the crown angles slightly.   The tip curves inward a bit.

It's a very fine tooth with an auction label identifying it as Isurus xiphodon, a name that bore little significance for me and didn't hint at the prestigious relatives this shark species had and the controversy over that relationship.  Knowing that the identifications cited in club auction labels range from spot-on to very, very wide of the mark, I thought it prudent to double check that ID, a decision that revealed a protracted and intense taxonomic argument, one that involves not only my tooth, but the two most iconic shark species whose teeth are the holy grail to many collectors:  the gigantic, extinct megalodon and the fearsome great white shark.

I have tried to make sense of the ongoing debate but admit defeat.  Each time I think I've grasped the essential positions, I come across still others being advanced.  The following recounts just the initial steps in my taxonomic journey which, nevertheless, do help to elucidate the nature of the debate and the pedigree of my tooth.

I knew I was in trouble as soon as my initial web search for Isurus xiphodon turned up an article by Alexis Rojas on the Florida Museum of Natural History website titled Carcharodon hastalis; the disconnect between the name I searched and the title of the article was just the first hint that I'd stumbled into a morass.  (The article was last updated on February 26, 2015.)

The teeth pictured in Rojas' piece match mine quite closely, and I figured out that my search had landed on this article because Isurus xiphodon is just one of the "alternative scientific names" identified by the author for the species behind this tooth, names that also include Cosmopolitodus hastalis and Cosmopolitodus xiphodon.  The author's preferred name is Carcharodon hastalis.  Lying behind this multiplicity of possible names are various hypotheses about the taxonomic relationship of this shark species to other large toothed sharks, extinct and extant.

To make things a bit easier on me, I will often refer below to the three types of sharks at the center of this discussion by their species names because the battle is joined over their potential genus names.  So, hastalis refers to the kind of shark whose tooth is in my collection, megalodon refers to that super-sized, extinct shark whose teeth can be massive, measuring up to 7 inches or more, and carcharias refers to the great white shark, which, in the post-Jaws era, has come to dominate the popular perception of sharks.

The vigor of the debate has centered, in particular, on the megalodon and carcharias, and is driven in part by the exalted (at least, to collectors) status of those two sharks.  Though it sometimes seems that the shark species with the largest teeth and/or the best PR attracts the most attention in the literature, the taxonomic debate over the relationship of megalodon and carcharias isn't a trivial matter.  In general, how one classifies a particular species or group of species speaks volumes about the perceived evolutionary history of these animals.  The choice of genus names can explicate that history or obscure it.  (See, for example, Kenshu Shimada, et al., A New Elusive Otodontid Shark (Lamniformes:  Otodontidae) From the Lower Miocene, and Comments on the Taxonomy of Otondontid Genera, Including the 'Megatoothed' Clade, Historical Biology, October 2016, p. 8.)

The tooth from my collection is implicated in this debate and the many "alternative scientific names" that Rojas cites may testify to its intensity.  Consider the graphic below which is based on one that Rojas includes in the Florida Museum of Natural History article cited above.  It shows the author's interpretation of two of the most prominent hypotheses in the literature for the taxonomic relationships among several of the large toothed sharks, megalodon, carcharias, and hastalis in particular.  I have modified it in several ways.  I highlighted in red where my tooth fits taxonomically in the two hypotheses.  Note the difference in genus names.  I circled where the most recent common ancestors would appear under each hypothesis between carcharias and megalodon, and between hastalis and carcharias.  This signals how closely or how distantly related the members of each pair are.  I have also noted which of the various species are extinct or extant.  Finally, I dropped one of the species Rojas include (Lamna nasus) because its relationship to the others is not relevant to the discussion in this post.

Rojas describes the two hypotheses depicted above as follows:

A, traditional hypothesis in which the great white, Carcharodon carcharias is more closely related to the extinct megalodon than it is to mako sharks, genus Isurus.  B, alternative hypothesis, in which the great white, Carcharadon carcharis is more closely related to the extinct species "Isurus" hastalis. (Italics added throughout.)

Rojas notes that Hypothesis B is now favored.  This graphic captures one of the most significant developments in the taxonomic struggles over these sharks, that of, as shown in Hypothesis B, identifying megalodon to be rather distantly, not closely, related to carcharias.  At the same time, it fails to capture many of the alternative interpretations that have been offered over the years regarding the taxonomic status of these megatoothed sharks.  Indeed, Rojas acknowledges that the graphic depiction of Hypothesis B sidesteps at least a couple of ongoing debates.  Some paleontologists contend that, though they are apparently closely related, hastalis and carcharias are from different genera:  they identify the former as Cosmopolitodus hastalis while carcharias remains in the genus Carcharodon.  Also, some argue that there are two kinds of "hastalis" teeth, a broad form and a narrow form, which come from separate species.

The Rojas article may be somewhat dated given that it doesn't mention one of the more significant and contentious recent issues in the debate over megalodon. Shimada et al. in 2016 (see citation above for an article published later than the last updating of Rojas' piece) contend that the characteristics of the new megatoothed species they identify supports moving megalodon to the genus Otodus.  I won't go into the ramifications of this realignment (since I don't understand the complex basis for it), other than to say it's been rather controversial.  For a flavor of the vigor of the debate, I would point to the strong dissenting position expressed in great detail by paleontologist Bretton W. Kent in the chapter titled The Cartilaginous Fishes (Chimeras, Sharks, and Rays) of Calvert Cliffs, Maryland, USA which appears in The Geology and Vertebrate Paleontology of Calvert Cliffs, Maryland, USA (edited by Stephen J. Godfrey, Smithsonian Contributions to Paleobiology, Number 100, 2018, p. 80 et seq.).

At this point, I have decided to cut my losses and accept the position that my tooth is most likely a near ancestor of the great white shark and only distantly related to that monster shark megalodon.  It's still an impressive pedigree.