A Fortean by action more than membership.
John Alden Knight Jr. was born at the end of December 1890 in Lewistwon, Pennsylvania, right near the heart of the state. His father John Alden, then 39, was a railroad man, originally from Massachusetts; his mother Harriet (Jacobs), 38, was from Pennsylvania. John Jr. had a sister three years his senior, Elizabeth. Harriet’s mother also lived with the family, as did an Irish maid. Supposedly, he had descended from the Pilgrims on his father’s side.
John Jr. became an avid hunter and fisher, exploring the Juniata River on boat, BB gun in hand. Around the time that he was fourteen, his father was transferred to Williamsport, Pennsylvania, still in the heart of the state, but now near the Susquehanna River. John Jr. continued to fish and hunt upland birds such as grouse and woodcock. He attended Dickenson Seminary and, later, the Tome Institute in Maryland, then went to Cornell University where he studied to be an efficiency expert. He also was involved in drama and a number of sports. Knight graduated in 1915 and returned to Williamsport, where he, like his father, he was a special agent. His World War I draft card has him claiming an exemption based on a ‘physical disability,’ but a remembrance of him written many years later, with the help of his daughter-in-law, had it that Knight wanted to be a pilot, and so pulled some strings to join the Navy Air Force.
After the war, Knight lived a peripatetic existence, traveling through Florida and Chicago and New York. In 1920, he was a marine insurance executive in Manhattan. Five years later, the New York state census had him living in Binghamton, NY, married to Sara Elizabeth Earl, and with three children, Dorothy (12), Sara (11), and Richard (1). It would seem that Sarah Elizabeth had at least two children when she married John, perhaps three. By 1930, John was a real estate broker in Rye, New York, renting a house with his family, and employing a black servant and her daughter. The Great Depression destroyed his business and drained his funs—and also encouraged him to take up outdoor writing as a career. And over the next several decades he would become a familiar voice to readers of hunting and fishing magazines—as well as books—inventing new flies, being the feature of a Life magazine article in 1937. His big breakthrough, though, was his 1936 book Moon Up-Moon Down.
Back in 1926, while fishing Lake Helenblazes (yes, really), he had a guide who directed him to some of his best fishing ever. He asked the guide how he’d ben so accurate and the guide told him that the key was the position of the moon: if it was directly overhead—moon up—or directly below the spot on the earth—moon down—fish bit best. Over the next ten years, Knight tested and refined this postulate, finding them generally accurate but subject to other conditions like weather—it was efficiency studies taken to fishing. Knight became skeptical that it was gravity, per se, which was causing fish to become more active, but thought that the moon might concentrate negative ions, which, in turn, had an effect on fish.
Knight pursued his hypothesis, measuring it against his own records, as well as the meticulous records of other fishermen he came to know. (In time, the theory would be extended to animals other than fish). He published several articles on the subject in 1935, appearing in Sports Afield, Field and Stream, The Sportsman, and Outdoor Life. Encouraged by the response, Knight reworked the articles into a book. Charles Scribner’s Sons published “The Modern Angler, including the Solunar theory” on 27 March 1936 and Knight began making up tables showing the best times for sporting depending upon one’s longitudinal position on the planet. After he died in 1966, first his son, then his son’s wife took over the publication of the tables, which ran in newspapers around the country. The book was reprinted several times, eventually retitled Moon Up —Moon Down, and Knight in 1947 Knight began a syndicated column on hunting and fishing that often engaged with his own theories.
Knight called these “Solunar” tables, a portmanteau of Sol for sun and lunar for moon. (Along with tides, he felt that these three forces affected the behavior of fish more than any other, given otherwise favorable conditions.) As the origin story indicates, Knight wasn’t necessarily inventing a new theory, but sculpting folklore into a hypothesis that could be tested and refined. Since his time, there has been continued debate over the validity of the so lunar theory, with some fishermen and hunters swearing by the tables, other thinking them—literally—lunatic. A few tests have been made upon them with more scientific rigor than Knight himself could muster, but, as far as I know, there has never been a definitive conclusion as to their utility one way or another.
Abram Brooks, a Fortean science fiction fan, called Thayer’s attention to “Moon Up —Moon Down” some time in 1943. Thayer “bought the book promptly” and in the December 1943 issue of the The Fortean (no. 8) sang its praises: “Its implications are at least ten times as great as the blurb indicates. Mr. Knight may have the comet by the tail!” He encouraged members to get the Solunar tables, as well as the book “at once to test them for reliability.” Conveniently, the book and tables could be ordered directly through the Society.
And that was because, after Thayer had read the book, he had asked Knight to join—and Knight had, donating 1943 tables to the Society’s library. Thayer thought the connection only logical: “The text [of “Moon Up —Moon Down”] is written in the true Fortean manner—that is, with only ‘temporary acceptance’ of its findings—and the author has confirmed that mental attitude by joining the Society.
It is unclear how much Knight took to the Fortean cause. As he had made clear in “Moon Up —Moon Down,” he was skeptical of obvious relationships—such as attributing the moon’s effects to gravity—and tested a whole slew of possible influences on fish behavior, discarding most, and that kind o skepticism could be seen in the Fortean Society. But the magazine was often churlish, irascible, and unpatriotic, which made its skepticism hard to appreciate at times. The magazine indicates that he only wrote into the Society once—which suggests he did at least peruse the Society’s offerings. Neither is it clear that Forteans took to Knight’s theory. In Doubt 25 (Summer 1949), some five-and-half years after his initial call to study the Solunar tables, Thayer wrote an article titled “Solunaristas”:
“You folks who have been buying MFS Knight’s Solunar Tables every year for 50c should have some evidence or data by this time. Tell us about your experiences, not only as you apply the Tables to hunting and fishing, but any other observed phenomena,”
The reason for Thayer’s enthusiasm seems clear—he was interested int he possibility that the earth’s movements through space exposed the planet to different conditions—which might seed the earth with life or disease—and Knight’s theory supported that idea, to an extent. An certainly it seems that some Forteans were interested enough to pony up the four-bits for the tables, maybe even annually, but know one seems to have responded to Thayer’s call to test them.
At least one other Fortean, however, was intrigued by Knight’s theory. The science fiction editor (and writer and reviewer) Anthony Boucher reviewed Moon Up—Moon Down twice. The first appeared in the 4 October 1942 issue of The San Francisco Chronicle (he was running the book review section while the editor, Joseph Henry Jackson was at war). The article began with a story told by the librarian Edmund Pearson in his 1928 Queer Books. Fort looked up his own book in the library, only to be confused by the call number—what did it refer to, he asked, and learned it stood for eccentric literature. Knight, Boucher said, should be classified the same way. Which did not mean that either was wrong. Darwin, too, was once considered eccentric, Boucher said, and so science might yet have to make way for these theories. Boucher again reviewed the book in August 1943—likely the review that Brooks saw. This review appeared in Astounding, a science fiction magazine, and not the usual forum for a discussion of fishing techniques. Although it did make a certain, looping sense, in that Fort had (re?)introduced the idea that humans might be fished for into science fiction
There was only one more mention of Knight in Doubt.
That las mention of Knight came in 1952, when he wrote into the magazine. In Doubt 37 (April 1952), Thayer had gone off on a typical rant, playfully braiding together stories to make an acerbic point. He was an anti-vivisectionist—that is to say, against the use of animals in medical research—and cheekily suggested that foxes were coming to the aid of abused dogs. As proof, he pointed to an article about foxes biting an inordinate number of people in Pennsylvania and New York. “An estimated 35,000 foxes have Philadelphia surrounded,” he joked. And then went on further attack. The foxes, newspaper reports claimed, were infected with rabies. Thayer dismissed this as mere propaganda: “The ‘authorities’ have taken advantage of the opportunity to create a rabies scare for the benefit of the serum-sellers.” It was a battle of conspiracists, the forces of wildness and nature against the lying scientists.
A letter from Knight appeared in the next issue October 1952). “Believe me,” he said, “the present rabies crisis is exceedingly critical in a good many sections of our country.” As proof, he mentioned talks he had with state wildlife officials and reports in newspapers. He took the matter seriously enough that—even though he wore thick waders while fishing—he carried “a serviceable 38 calibre gun without which I would not dream of venturing into our woods while things are as they are.”
The letter brought to an end Thayer’s fascination with the solunar table—the end as whimper, not bang. Thayer didn’t attack Knight, as he would so many other Forteans he once promoted. Instead, he simply deferred. It’s striking, since the evidence Knight brought to the table was the type Thayer would usually thrash—the maunderings of state officials, scientists, and journalists were his bête noir. Thayer, though, just bowed out of the debate with a respectful introduction to the letter and obsequious bow to Knight’s own more substantial knowledge—Thayer not usually being one to let his own ignorance stop him from engaging in a fight:
“MFS John Alden Knight, the Fortean Nimrod who developed the Solunar theory of wild-life feeding habits, takes us to task for attributing rabies publicity to serum-sellers. Mr. Knight lives right in the rabies belt of Penna, so he ought to know."
John Alden Knight Jr. was born at the end of December 1890 in Lewistwon, Pennsylvania, right near the heart of the state. His father John Alden, then 39, was a railroad man, originally from Massachusetts; his mother Harriet (Jacobs), 38, was from Pennsylvania. John Jr. had a sister three years his senior, Elizabeth. Harriet’s mother also lived with the family, as did an Irish maid. Supposedly, he had descended from the Pilgrims on his father’s side.
John Jr. became an avid hunter and fisher, exploring the Juniata River on boat, BB gun in hand. Around the time that he was fourteen, his father was transferred to Williamsport, Pennsylvania, still in the heart of the state, but now near the Susquehanna River. John Jr. continued to fish and hunt upland birds such as grouse and woodcock. He attended Dickenson Seminary and, later, the Tome Institute in Maryland, then went to Cornell University where he studied to be an efficiency expert. He also was involved in drama and a number of sports. Knight graduated in 1915 and returned to Williamsport, where he, like his father, he was a special agent. His World War I draft card has him claiming an exemption based on a ‘physical disability,’ but a remembrance of him written many years later, with the help of his daughter-in-law, had it that Knight wanted to be a pilot, and so pulled some strings to join the Navy Air Force.
After the war, Knight lived a peripatetic existence, traveling through Florida and Chicago and New York. In 1920, he was a marine insurance executive in Manhattan. Five years later, the New York state census had him living in Binghamton, NY, married to Sara Elizabeth Earl, and with three children, Dorothy (12), Sara (11), and Richard (1). It would seem that Sarah Elizabeth had at least two children when she married John, perhaps three. By 1930, John was a real estate broker in Rye, New York, renting a house with his family, and employing a black servant and her daughter. The Great Depression destroyed his business and drained his funs—and also encouraged him to take up outdoor writing as a career. And over the next several decades he would become a familiar voice to readers of hunting and fishing magazines—as well as books—inventing new flies, being the feature of a Life magazine article in 1937. His big breakthrough, though, was his 1936 book Moon Up-Moon Down.
Back in 1926, while fishing Lake Helenblazes (yes, really), he had a guide who directed him to some of his best fishing ever. He asked the guide how he’d ben so accurate and the guide told him that the key was the position of the moon: if it was directly overhead—moon up—or directly below the spot on the earth—moon down—fish bit best. Over the next ten years, Knight tested and refined this postulate, finding them generally accurate but subject to other conditions like weather—it was efficiency studies taken to fishing. Knight became skeptical that it was gravity, per se, which was causing fish to become more active, but thought that the moon might concentrate negative ions, which, in turn, had an effect on fish.
Knight pursued his hypothesis, measuring it against his own records, as well as the meticulous records of other fishermen he came to know. (In time, the theory would be extended to animals other than fish). He published several articles on the subject in 1935, appearing in Sports Afield, Field and Stream, The Sportsman, and Outdoor Life. Encouraged by the response, Knight reworked the articles into a book. Charles Scribner’s Sons published “The Modern Angler, including the Solunar theory” on 27 March 1936 and Knight began making up tables showing the best times for sporting depending upon one’s longitudinal position on the planet. After he died in 1966, first his son, then his son’s wife took over the publication of the tables, which ran in newspapers around the country. The book was reprinted several times, eventually retitled Moon Up —Moon Down, and Knight in 1947 Knight began a syndicated column on hunting and fishing that often engaged with his own theories.
Knight called these “Solunar” tables, a portmanteau of Sol for sun and lunar for moon. (Along with tides, he felt that these three forces affected the behavior of fish more than any other, given otherwise favorable conditions.) As the origin story indicates, Knight wasn’t necessarily inventing a new theory, but sculpting folklore into a hypothesis that could be tested and refined. Since his time, there has been continued debate over the validity of the so lunar theory, with some fishermen and hunters swearing by the tables, other thinking them—literally—lunatic. A few tests have been made upon them with more scientific rigor than Knight himself could muster, but, as far as I know, there has never been a definitive conclusion as to their utility one way or another.
Abram Brooks, a Fortean science fiction fan, called Thayer’s attention to “Moon Up —Moon Down” some time in 1943. Thayer “bought the book promptly” and in the December 1943 issue of the The Fortean (no. 8) sang its praises: “Its implications are at least ten times as great as the blurb indicates. Mr. Knight may have the comet by the tail!” He encouraged members to get the Solunar tables, as well as the book “at once to test them for reliability.” Conveniently, the book and tables could be ordered directly through the Society.
And that was because, after Thayer had read the book, he had asked Knight to join—and Knight had, donating 1943 tables to the Society’s library. Thayer thought the connection only logical: “The text [of “Moon Up —Moon Down”] is written in the true Fortean manner—that is, with only ‘temporary acceptance’ of its findings—and the author has confirmed that mental attitude by joining the Society.
It is unclear how much Knight took to the Fortean cause. As he had made clear in “Moon Up —Moon Down,” he was skeptical of obvious relationships—such as attributing the moon’s effects to gravity—and tested a whole slew of possible influences on fish behavior, discarding most, and that kind o skepticism could be seen in the Fortean Society. But the magazine was often churlish, irascible, and unpatriotic, which made its skepticism hard to appreciate at times. The magazine indicates that he only wrote into the Society once—which suggests he did at least peruse the Society’s offerings. Neither is it clear that Forteans took to Knight’s theory. In Doubt 25 (Summer 1949), some five-and-half years after his initial call to study the Solunar tables, Thayer wrote an article titled “Solunaristas”:
“You folks who have been buying MFS Knight’s Solunar Tables every year for 50c should have some evidence or data by this time. Tell us about your experiences, not only as you apply the Tables to hunting and fishing, but any other observed phenomena,”
The reason for Thayer’s enthusiasm seems clear—he was interested int he possibility that the earth’s movements through space exposed the planet to different conditions—which might seed the earth with life or disease—and Knight’s theory supported that idea, to an extent. An certainly it seems that some Forteans were interested enough to pony up the four-bits for the tables, maybe even annually, but know one seems to have responded to Thayer’s call to test them.
At least one other Fortean, however, was intrigued by Knight’s theory. The science fiction editor (and writer and reviewer) Anthony Boucher reviewed Moon Up—Moon Down twice. The first appeared in the 4 October 1942 issue of The San Francisco Chronicle (he was running the book review section while the editor, Joseph Henry Jackson was at war). The article began with a story told by the librarian Edmund Pearson in his 1928 Queer Books. Fort looked up his own book in the library, only to be confused by the call number—what did it refer to, he asked, and learned it stood for eccentric literature. Knight, Boucher said, should be classified the same way. Which did not mean that either was wrong. Darwin, too, was once considered eccentric, Boucher said, and so science might yet have to make way for these theories. Boucher again reviewed the book in August 1943—likely the review that Brooks saw. This review appeared in Astounding, a science fiction magazine, and not the usual forum for a discussion of fishing techniques. Although it did make a certain, looping sense, in that Fort had (re?)introduced the idea that humans might be fished for into science fiction
There was only one more mention of Knight in Doubt.
That las mention of Knight came in 1952, when he wrote into the magazine. In Doubt 37 (April 1952), Thayer had gone off on a typical rant, playfully braiding together stories to make an acerbic point. He was an anti-vivisectionist—that is to say, against the use of animals in medical research—and cheekily suggested that foxes were coming to the aid of abused dogs. As proof, he pointed to an article about foxes biting an inordinate number of people in Pennsylvania and New York. “An estimated 35,000 foxes have Philadelphia surrounded,” he joked. And then went on further attack. The foxes, newspaper reports claimed, were infected with rabies. Thayer dismissed this as mere propaganda: “The ‘authorities’ have taken advantage of the opportunity to create a rabies scare for the benefit of the serum-sellers.” It was a battle of conspiracists, the forces of wildness and nature against the lying scientists.
A letter from Knight appeared in the next issue October 1952). “Believe me,” he said, “the present rabies crisis is exceedingly critical in a good many sections of our country.” As proof, he mentioned talks he had with state wildlife officials and reports in newspapers. He took the matter seriously enough that—even though he wore thick waders while fishing—he carried “a serviceable 38 calibre gun without which I would not dream of venturing into our woods while things are as they are.”
The letter brought to an end Thayer’s fascination with the solunar table—the end as whimper, not bang. Thayer didn’t attack Knight, as he would so many other Forteans he once promoted. Instead, he simply deferred. It’s striking, since the evidence Knight brought to the table was the type Thayer would usually thrash—the maunderings of state officials, scientists, and journalists were his bête noir. Thayer, though, just bowed out of the debate with a respectful introduction to the letter and obsequious bow to Knight’s own more substantial knowledge—Thayer not usually being one to let his own ignorance stop him from engaging in a fight:
“MFS John Alden Knight, the Fortean Nimrod who developed the Solunar theory of wild-life feeding habits, takes us to task for attributing rabies publicity to serum-sellers. Mr. Knight lives right in the rabies belt of Penna, so he ought to know."
