A Time to Howl: The Baskerville Bash 1999

By Brad Keefauver

A long time ago, in that distant land called New York City, there were two annual dinners held on the Friday evening nearest Sherlock Holmes’s birthday. One was a prestigious, invitation-only affair, and the other a protest against sexism that grew into a yearly tradition. Time passed, policies changed, but the one basic premise of the two annual dinners remained the same: those who could go to the Baker Street Irregulars dinner, and those who couldn’t.

Looking at that incredibly over-simplified statement, one might be tempted to think that the “other” dinner is a rather sad affair, full of B.S.I. wannabes, crying in their beer over not getting invited to the more famous of the two dinners. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The Baskerville Bash, in its third year as the third incarnation of the “other” dinner, is not just some catch-all for the overflow of Sherlockians during the Holmes birthday weekend — it’s a reservoir for the overflow of Sherlockian enthusiasm that hits New York City on that particular night.

People howl at the Baskerville Bash.

They howl, they laugh, they sing. There’s toasting and bidding and punning. And there’s this really big dog head (Hugo, the Hound of the Baskervilles himself) making laid-back wisecracks about the proceedings. Hugo’s special effects may not be up to the Disney animatronic state-of-the-art, but I found myself growing very fond of the big ol’ boy by the time the night was done.

This year the Bash was held at a charmingly atmospheric place appropriately called “La Belle Epoque.” The evening began with a sombre moment dedicated to absent friends, most notably Tom Stix, Jr., and from that quiet square one, a series of four toasts began raising the noise level considerably. Dore Nash, Priscilla Ridgeway, Judith Freeman, and Rosemary Michaud toasted, respectively if not respectfully, Dr. Mortimer, Mrs. Barrymore, the Hounds, and Selden. (The last of those toasts, which caused such a overwhelming reaction that it was referred to in another publication as a talk, is printed elsewhere in this issue.) One soup or salad later (the soup was cream of squash, very nice), a bevy of beauties, one of whom was a gentleman, took the stage under the name “The Grimpen Mire Choir.” Their first three songs met with enthusiastic approval from the Bashers, especially a number called “Leprosy,” done to the tune of the Beatles’ classic “Yesterday” and extolling the woes of Godfrey Emsworth.

With the crowd sufficiently warmed up, William Walsh took the stage with a paper called “Seventeen Steps from Addiction,” in which he delineated the all-too-familiar patterns of Sherlockian addiction. The reactions to his paper quickly demonstrated two things: that Sherlockians know how to laugh at their foibles, and that there are certain common bonds which forever connect us all. Very good stuff.

After a pause for some food, the Grimpen Mire Choir was back with another pair of tunes, setting the stage for Michael Elliott (a.k.a. Elliott Black) and his astonishing display of Sherlockian mentalism. What’s Sherlockian mentalism? Well, remember when Sherlock Holmes read Watson’s mind in “The Adventure of the Cardboard Box”? It was kind of like that, except without the explanation at the end. Michael pulled names of detectives and identities of cards out of attendees’ brains like they were rabbits coming out of top hats.

What could follow such a display but coffee and dessert? A version of the Grimpen Mire Choir called “The Sherlettes” was up next with another set of tunes (after giving us time to finish the last course, of course — the sort of laughter they evoked could have easily led to choking). Some guy named Keefauver came next with a paper on Doyle’s creation of Sherlock Holmes in a lab, ala Victor Frankenstein, followed by a Sherlockian auction of some nicely crafted one-of-a-kind items to support future Bashes. The Hugo Award for most appreciated Bashman was presented to Warren Randall, and thank-you’s were doled out. All that remained was a sentimental singing of “Holmes & Watson’s Time” by all those present, and the official program was over. The “official program,” that is.

No one seemed particularly inclined to leave the Baskerville Bash once it was done, and a sort of late-night cocktail party ensued. Attendees of the BSI dinner wandered in to tell of the highlights of that dinner and provide one more opportunity to meet people (there are so many Sherlockians in New York for theBSI weekend that it’s good to have as many opportunities as possible) and chat. Rumors of a sing-a-long still to come were about as this tired correspondent decided to call it a night. I’m not sure how long the Baskerville Bash actually continued, and I’m not sure my delicate constitution would want to know. As with every other earthly delight, there are those who can handle mass quantities, and those who need time to digest . . . even with Sherlockian enthusiasm. But the organizers of th Baskerville Bash are making sure that even those who can’t handle staying up until the wee hours will want to come back for another serving next year.