PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities
What is that smell? Funny you should ask. It’s the amorphophallus titanum
-- if you must know, better known to you non-botanists as the corpse
flower.
I tried hard to pay no heed to this story in its last incarnation, but
it’s much too weird to ignore.
Last year, it was in San Marino. Today it’s in Fullerton. Tomorrow, it
could be right here, in the land of Newport-Mesa. They’re everywhere I
tell you. Everywhere.
In case you missed it, let’s review. The corpse flower -- also known as
the titan arum or Bunga Bangkai, which probably doesn’t mean anything
nasty but sure sounds like it -- is the largest and one of the most rare
flowers on Earth.
The Bunga is a big bud growing as much as 20 feet tall and 10 feet wide
in the wild. And that’s wild, as in “‘wild.” The big Bunga is indigenous
to only one corner of this Earth: the tropical rain forests of Sumatra.
Sumatra, as you know, is a distant and exotic place which is way down in
the, well, you go to Australia, turn right and it’s thousands of miles
past the ... it’s far, OK? And very exotic.
But what really makes the Bunga bodacious is not size, but smell. It
blooms once in a blue moon and when it does, it emits an overpowering and
thoroughly repulsive odor most often described as rotting meat. Thus, its
common name, the corpse flower. Charmed, I’m sure.
Wait, it gets even more repugnant. The corpse flower produces its
distinctive eau du gag scent to attract dung beetles, the creatures that
cross-pollinate girl Bungas and boy Bungas.
The lovely and delicate 250-pound flower was discovered in 1878 by an
Italian botanist named Beccari, who shipped a few seeds back to the Royal
Botanic Gardens.
The first documented bloom in the United States took place at the New
York Botanical Gardens in 1937. When the big stinky did its thing at the
Huntington Library in San Marino last year, it was the 11th recorded
bloom in the U.S.
The blooming corpse flower now on display at Cal State Fullerton’s
arboretum marks the 12th fouling of American air. Hard to believe that
people keep track of these things, but apparently they do.
The real reason I can’t shake this story, though, is that it is another
example of just how wrong I can be. When I first heard about the smelly
Sumatran at the Huntington Library last year, I laughed out loud when the
reporter said Huntington was bracing itself for a crush of curiosity
sniffers that weekend.
“Ridiculous,” I thought, with a mean-spirited mix of sarcasm and derision
(that’s a lot of nuance for a one-word thought). How many people will go
out of their way to see a giant, smelly flower that only a dung beetle
could love?
The correct answer, if you recall, was “thousands.”
People from the Bay Area to San Diego made their way to San Marino to get
a whiff of the Bunga boy. Television crews from around the world jostled
for position. The Monday edition of Beijing’s largest newspaper carried
the story, with photo, on the front page.
Fast forward 10 months, to the Fullerton Arboretum. Same story -- “It’s
big, it’s weird, it smells” -- same result. In Wednesday’s Orange County
Register, front page, color photo. Los Angeles Times? Front page, Orange
County section, color photo.
Obviously, this thing strikes a nerve, olfactory and otherwise, with
people around the world. But why? If you can figure it out, please let me
know.
The intense, global interest in a really big flower that smells really
bad goes directly into my “Grand Miscalculation” file, in which two other
items of local interest are stored.
The first is the Costa Mesa Bark Park. When the idea first came up some
years back, my colleagues on the City Council were much more enthusiastic
about it than I.
What could it hurt, I told myself. Being a very knowledgeable, acutely
perceptive and modest person, I was sure no one would use it. Worse case,
we take the fence down after a few months, reseed the grass, everyone
will see that I was right. I won’t gloat, promise.
Wrong, prosciutto breath! The thing was packed from day one. It was like
the Anniversary Sale at Nordstrom, only everybody brought their dog. I
got “Thank you, Mr. Mayor” letters from dog owners, and a few dogs, from
La Habra to San Clemente.
The other item in the Grand Miscalculation file was my suggestion to add
nine holes to the Costa Mesa golf course. With a system of staggered
play, it would be the equivalent of a third 18-hole course. It would mean
a big revenue boost for the city, plus a nice increase in our permanent
open space.
Is this a great idea, or what? Oh, almost forgot -- we’ll have to move
the miniature railroad on Placentia. What’s not to love?
Wrong again, your Gavelness. It was the political equivalent of the big
Bunga. From the moment the idea bloomed, people staggered backward,
covered their noses with whatever they could find and said, “Oh my god,
what is that smell?”
I got letters and finger-painted posters from schoolkids from Corona del
Mar to Riverside, begging me not to touch the train. The city manager’s
office had to bring in temps to handle the phone threats.
“No, the mayor’s not in. May I take a message? Yes. Uh huh. Yes. With a
staple gun? Yes, I understand. Anything else? Ooo, that’s gotta hurt. OK,
fine. I’ll give him the message. Thank you for calling.”
And now, the latest Grand Miscalculation. Who could possibly be
interested in a 250-pound flower that smells awful? People from here to
China, that’s all.
I still don’t get it.
But if you want to impress a dung beetle, say it with flowers. Just make
sure it’s a big one named Bunga.
I gotta go.
* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column appears Fridays.
He can be reached via e-mail at o7 PtrB4@aol.comf7 .
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