What do Alfred R. Wallace, Rollo Beck, A. J. van Rossem, Ed Ricketts, and Larry Spear have in common? They were all what we might call “scroungers,” biologists who would much prefer to be in the trenches, bitten by sand fleas, at sea in a rowboat, parched and dusty in Mexican deserts, soaked and covered with seaweed, or hauling rotten whales down an interstate, respectively, rather than fraternizing with fellow biologists at conferences or meetings. In short, these are my heroes. Now I can add a sixth name to this list, Robert Cyril Layton (R. C. L.) Perkins.