Giant Skeletons & the Smithsonian: What Survived the Dig

When the Shovels Hit the Earth at Dusk

Picture a fading sun over rural Midwest fields in the late 1800s. Local farmers and antiquarians gather around ancient mounds, picks and shovels in hand, the air thick with the scent of freshly turned earth. Word spreads fast in these small towns—whispers of buried secrets unearthed as the day’s light dims. Newspapers chase the story, hungry for headlines that grip readers. One account from the St. Paul Pioneer Press in 1888 captures the scene: workers in Clearwater pull seven skeletons, each measuring seven to eight feet, from the soil. Excitement builds. Reporters spin tales of enormous frames and bizarre traits, feeding the era’s taste for the extraordinary. Tools clink against bone. Locals crowd closer, eyes wide. What lies beneath?

What Witnesses and Analysts Report

Those on the ground—farmers, diggers, and early explorers—described finds that still echo in community lore. Skeletons towering seven to nine feet, some with extra fingers or toes, double rows of teeth, even strands of red or blonde hair clinging to ancient skulls. These details surfaced in local papers, painting a picture of something far from ordinary. Alternative researchers today pull these threads together, compiling lists from hundreds of old clippings. Books by folks like Dewhurst and Zimmerman lay it out plain: patterns of oversized remains shipped off to places like the Smithsonian, only to vanish from records. Witnesses spoke with certainty back then, and their accounts matter— they reflect what people saw, or thought they saw, in those mounds. It’s not just tall tales; it’s a shared history demanding respect.

Timelines, Tracks, and Hard Data

The trail starts in the 1870s, peaks through the 1880s and 1890s, and fades by the 1910s. Newspapers buzzed with reports, like that 1888 St. Paul Pioneer Press piece on seven- to eight-foot skeletons. Heights often hit seven to nine feet in original accounts, though later compilations sometimes stretch to twelve. For the backbone, look to Cyrus Thomas’s 1894 Report on the Mound Explorations from the Smithsonian’s Bureau of Ethnology—available online via the Internet Archive or Smithsonian repositories. It details investigations and collections, but skips the sensational giants. Fact-checks from AP, Reuters, and Snopes pin the ‘destroyed thousands’ story to 2014 satire, with Smithsonian officials pushing back. Scholars like Andy White and Dr. Michael Heiser warn that phrases like ‘double rows of teeth’ might be loose journalism, not hard anatomy. The evidence is strongest in those primary press clips and institutional reports, but trails go cold without matching museum specimens.

Official Story vs. What the Data Suggests

The Smithsonian stands firm: their Bureau of Ethnology ran legitimate mound studies, detailed in Thomas’s 1894 report, with no policy of suppressing giants. Modern spokespeople reject any cover-up outright. Fact-checkers agree, linking the destruction narrative to fiction. Yet community voices point to patterns—clusters of similar reports across papers, suggesting something more than hype. Professional archaeologists note the era’s spotty digs and flowery writing could inflate details; ‘enormous’ might mean robust, not giant. Still, gaps persist. Some remains might have arrived, then got lost in old catalogs or re-labeled plainly. Others could be outright exaggerations or hoaxes. Or perhaps a few hold real mysteries. The data hints at archival holes and media flair, but doesn’t erase the eyewitness conviction. We weigh both sides here, keeping the door cracked.

How to Follow the Threads: Researcher’s Checklist

Ready to dig deeper? Start with Cyrus Thomas’s 1894 report—grab it from the Smithsonian repository or Internet Archive, then cross-check sites against their accession ledgers. Transcribe those 19th-century clippings: hunt dates, papers, and quotes for key cases. It’s a priority step. Query Smithsonian catalogs and state historical societies for mound names tied to stories; if accession numbers pop up, request full docs and provenance. Draft FOIA requests for shipment logs and early ledgers—templates can help streamline that. If provenanced bones surface, push for radiocarbon dating, bone measurements, pathology checks, and DNA where allowed. These moves turn curiosity into solid leads.

What It All Might Mean

Boil it down: 19th-century mounds yielded documented finds in Thomas’s 1894 report and a flood of local press, heavy on sensational details. But specific anomalies often lack traceable specimens, and the big cover-up tale roots in modern fiction, not institutional proof. Mysteries linger—where did those shipped remains go? The story hits home for us: it probes trust in records, how hype shapes history, and what evidence really means for bold claims. For readers tracking the unexplained, this underscores method over myth. Chase transcripts of those clippings, scour ledgers at museums, and advocate for fresh looks at any material that emerges. Share what you find; we’re in this together.