Introduction xv
by local divers and in an effort to teach me to swim, my father bought me a
mask and snorkel. The seas parted, and I could see what lived down there!
Breathing issues moved to the back burner, and my parents’ problem be-
came, not getting me in the water, but getting me out. When I wasn’t in the
water, I was walking the beaches or probing tide pools, looking for prizes.
As I got older, fishing became more important. My father manned the
wheel, and I deployed the fishing gear. I’d set the hook, and we’d alternate
reeling in the catches. Often, he’d bring some of his buddies with him,
and they’d share their fishing knowledge with me. He noticed I wasn’t as
interested in the benchmarks of the other anglers—numbers and sizes of
the catch—but was concentrating more on the diversity of species captured
and the morphology of those fishes. An ichthyologist was incubating. My
first shark catch was the mighty Spiny Dogfish, two feet of terror.
My first biology class in ninth grade sealed the deal. Blessed in having
a dynamic teacher, Ernie Ernest, who was more fish than human, I discov-
ered that I could turn my passion into a career, as had he. From there on,
my goal was to become a biologist. He told me stories of close encounters
he had with Sand Tigers while diving in nearby Long Island Sound and
about their aggressive nature around speared fishes, my initial insight into
shark attack. I needed to graduate into scuba, which I did my freshman year
at the University of Rhode Island. Subsequent educational stops took me
to the University of North Carolina and the University of Florida, where I
studied oceanography and zoology. While in North Carolina I was able to
finally work with “real sharks”—the kind seen so commonly today on TV
and in the print media: Tigers and Whites, makos and Sand Tigers, Bulls
and Blacktips. Research cruises in the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico in-
troduced me to deepwater sharks like lanternsharks, miniature biolumines-
cent sharks that made my first Spiny Dogfish look like a giant.
After taking a position at the Florida Museum of Natural History at
the University of Florida, I was fortunate that my scientific hero, Stewart
Springer, retired to Gainesville. Despite a 40-year difference in ages, we
became fast friends, most of my work days ending with a visit to his house
for a couple hours of shark talk and collaboration on studies of lantern-
fishes and their kin. Stew had more hands-on experience with sharks than
anyone of his or my generation, and I tried to absorb as much of it as I
could. There never could be a better mentor.
My interests in sharks and rays are diverse. Colleagues, students, and I
have collaborated to study their reproduction, food habits, age and growth,
ecology, and movements; and we have discovered new species, including
the two smallest species of sharks. We are deeply involved in fishery man-
agement and conservation, and as curators of the International Shark At-
tack File, we investigate and study shark attacks. The plight of sawfishes is