"Roots," Boots and Big Galoots: Charles Byrne

Charles Byrne was eight foot two, and all the rage in London. "[N]either the tongue of the most florid orator, or pen of the most ingenious writer," one newspaper declared in the purple prose of our grandparents' time, "can sufficiently describe the elegance, symmetry, and proportion of this wonderful phenomenon in nature, and that all description must fall infinitely short of giving that satisfaction which may be obtained on a judicious inspection."

Why this guy didn't end up naked in a glass case I'll never know.

Charles liked to drink, and one night while he was on a bender a pickpocket stole his wallet. He got depressed and died at the age of twenty-two.

Every doctor in the country fought to get his body, bidding with the undertaker like he was Elvis' pink Cadillac. Charles, though, had made his plans perfectly clear: he wanted to be buried at sea. He nearly got his wish, but when his coffin was dumped into the water there were more than a few anxious folks watching from nearby boats. And some just happened to be outfitted with scuba gear.

These people didn't recover the body, but only because somebody else had beaten them to it. One of the doctors had been successful with his bribe, and the body had been swapped with paving stones before it went out to sea. Charles' new owner cut him up and boiled him in a big pot until the bones were clean -- if he'd been a chicken, they'd have been halfway toward soup -- then put his skeleton on display. He was eventually donated to a London University, where he's available for viewing five days a week.

Royal College of Surgeons, Hunterian Museum, 35-43 Lincoln's Inn Fields, London, England. Open Monday to Friday 10-5. Admission free.