Bio

My parents grew up in London's East End.  Both left school at 14 and went straight to work-- my dad into the building trades and my mum sewing shirtwaists in a factory on the Commercial Road.  Like a lot of East Enders, my folks moved to Essex after WWII.  I was born there, just north of London, in 1952.   

My first archaeological experience was on the Saxon site of Mucking  -- yes, its real name -- where I spent the summer 1969 shoveling gravel for Margaret "MUJ" Jones.   During successive school summer holidays I worked  on the Roman site of Usk in South Wales where I was exposed to Wheeler boxes and learned the ancient art of baulk bashing from experts.

Dropping out of high school with four unimpressive O-levels, I theoretically attended Walthamstow Technical College in North London to pursue A-levels.  In reality, I did (a) nothing I want to reveal publically and (b) various short term jobs (life model, hod carrier, ferry deck hand...)  before starting to work full-time on the now defunct British archaeology digging circuit.  From 1972 to 1975, I rose  through the ranks from excavator to site assistant, planner, and assistant site supervisor on the digging curcuit.  I was also the dig cook on some projects (see my Random stuff page).  

Mary and I were married in 1975 and later that year relocated to her home state of California.  Finances were strained and in a period of unemployment I took a job with  Christo's Running Fence project, working mostly where the fence crossed 101 on Meacham Hill.  After doing archaeology throughout northern Nevada for the Nevada State Museum we moved back to California, joining Dave Fredrickson's staff at SSU's Anthropological Studies Center [ASC].  We  worked part-time for Dave and part for California State Parks, including 10 months on an analysis of mid-19th century ceramics.

In American archaeology you need a university degree to do more than schlep dirt.  I, of course, had none.   So I applied to SSU without much hope, considering my weedy qualifications.   Then, miracle of miracles:  the Admissions Officer who evaluated my O-level results got it wrong,  interpreting all my O-level exam grades as passes -- I'd actually failed 6 out of 10.  I tried to explain, I really did.  Now, be it known that no quantity of O-levels would ever have got me into a British university; at the time one needed three decent A-levels.   Again, the Admissions Officer unknowlingly came to my rescue and I was admitted as a probationary student.  Which is how, four years later and at the age of 30, I graduated with a BA in Anthropology.

What next?   What indeed.   We had a three-year-old and were scraping by on less than $10k/year (about $35k today).   I considered applying to law school.   Hmmm...  Or becoming a State Parks ranger.   That appealed, but it required police officer training.  Hmmm again.   Then Jim Deetz, who had visited while we were digging the Golden Eagle Site a couple of years previously, offered Mary and I places in UC Berkeley's PhD program.  We talked it over.  Mary declined and I accepted.

For the next decade we cobbled together a living as ASC staff archaeologists; I was also a part-time lecturer at SSU.  In 1991, after a mere 10 years and two extensions (normative time was 8 years), Berkeley gave me a PhD in Anthropology.   The following year, SSU appointed me Assistant Professor of Anthropology and ASC Director.  I retired as a full Professor in 2017. 

My mum had always been amazed that I could make a living by digging in the dirt.   Me too!

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