Pungent Flower Brings Out the Crowds

Forget about the 15th century edition of “Canterbury Tales.” Don’t set foot near “Blue Boy” and other masterpiece paintings of Gainsborough. Skip right by one of the few surviving Gutenberg Bibles, a mere 544 years old.

The crowds Monday at the Huntington Library, the largest one-day tally in the San Marino institution’s 71-year history, came on a strikingly less cultured mission: They wanted to see and sniff a massive flower that smells like road kill.

They swarmed like dung beetles in the jungle, thousands of people converging for the rare two-day blooming of the Amorphophallus titanum plant--one of the largest and most putrid flowers in the world.

They jammed the usually quiet streets nearby and poured into the library and its botanical gardens until officials were forced to close the gates at midafternoon. Inside, visitors waited at least two hours in a line that snaked through the stifling, smoggy heat. Two people passed out and were treated by paramedics.

“I can just eyeball it and tell you this is the largest draw we’ve ever had,” said library spokeswoman Lisa Blackburn, who estimated that 7,000 people had come by noon but had no solid count for all of Monday. “At the main gate, we lost control of the numbers, because the guards were trying to control the crowds.”

How could a stinking plant draw such a crowd, one far larger than the recent exhibits about George Washington and Abraham Lincoln?

“I like anything that’s strange,” said Harry Baer of South Pasadena. “And this is one of the strangest things you’ll ever see.”

A titan arum has bloomed only 11 times in the United States. In its native Sumatra, the plant is relatively common, and is called “corpse flower” for the rancid scent it emits to draw pollinators.

At the Huntington Library on Monday, many visitors said confronting the six-foot plant was a once in a lifetime experience. For Rosie Rodriguez of San Gabriel, it provided a welcome respite from all the bad news that has recently brought people together--in Atlanta, on Martha’s Vineyard and in Littleton, Colo.

“It’s about being part of something,” she said. “Something positive.”

Most of those who sweated through a line that would put Disneyland to shame said it was worth it, although they were a little disappointed by the much-trumpeted odor.

Not quite the fumes of the rotting horse they were promised, the smell was like that of a much smaller dead animal, or perhaps a trash bin. Flies swirled around the bloom, which was on display under Greek columns in the gardens, while people were kept about 10 feet away by ropes. From there, they craned their necks and closed their eyes, trying to absorb the full glory of its stench.

One woman described it as a “honey, you need to plug in the freezer” kind of odor. Baer thought it was a “dusty, musty kind of smell, like an old garbage can.” A 7-year-old girl from Ontario put it most simply: “It’s like a bunch of gross stuff.”

Perhaps Bob Fritz of Claremont would be disappointed. About 1 p.m., he and his friends had been waiting in line for an hour and a half, and had a long way to go. Asked what drew him to the plant, he said: “We’re preparing for the smell of Armageddon.”

Others, however, looked at the line and turned right around, even after paying $8.50 for admission. “This is a bit much,” said Kevin Doster, who brought his family from Pomona. “The traffic was so bad coming in we sat in one spot without moving for eight minutes.”

After getting a glimpse of the plant from afar, without waiting in line, they were going home. By that time, the inbound traffic had backed up more than half a mile on Allen Avenue.

Titan arum plants have drawn huge crowds since one first bloomed at the Bronx Zoo in 1937. Technically, the bloom is a cluster of minute flowers, but it is generally regarded as the largest flower in the world. The one owned by the Huntington began its pungent blooming late Sunday and is expected to continue through today.

What gives the plant an impressive appearance, reminiscent of the “Little Shop of Horrors,” is a purplish, towering spear, called the spadix. From the spadix comes the smell that draws dung beetles and other bugs that are not usually attracted to the bright colors of most flowers.

Gillean McLeod, a library member, was turned away from the front gates at 2 p.m. She couldn’t believe the scene compared to the normally quiet weekdays at the Huntington, where officials said daily attendance averages about 2,000. “Nobody comes to the Huntington,” she said, adding: “I think they should have planned this better.”