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The air smells sickeningly sweet, with honeysuckle and death. The Body Farm—the only place in the world where corpses rot in the open air to advance human knowledge—sits on a wooded hillside an easy three-minute stroll from the University of Tennessee Medical Center in Knoxville.NOT EVERYONE COMES HERE voluntarily. The cadaver under the honeysuckle, for instance, had been shot in the chest and abdomen after a drug deal gone wrong 10 days earlier. No one knows what happened to his headless neighbor 20 feet away—a woman found floating last summer in the Tennessee River. William Bass III, 73, the Body Farm’s founder, doesn’t find the scene ghoulish. “I see this as a scientific challenge,” he says, as maggots work efficiently on 20 or so corpses decomposing in the early autumn sun. Then Bass uses a gloved hand to lift a rotting limb.
Bass realized then just how squeamishness and religious beliefs about the body had impeded hard-eyed study of the process of human decay. He still regards it as preposterous that 90 percent of people studying to be law-enforcement agents have never seen a corpse, or that, until the Body Farm, entomologists knew far too little about the remarkable parade of insects after death: from blowfly to maggot to,carpet beetle. So Bass went to his dean with a matter-of-fact plan: “I said I wanted some land to put some dead bodies on,” he said. “The dean didn’t blink an eye.” A few months later the first corpse arrived.
Over the years, more than 300 people have decayed on this leafy Tennessee hillside—some in car trunks, others under water, some under earth, some hung from scaffolds. Corpses of criminals whose relatives won’t pay to bury them sometimes end up here. But more than 100 people, many of them academics and professionals, have signed up on their own for afterlife on the farm. “I’m an outdoors person, and it seems like the perfect place to go,” says Roy Crawford, 49, an engineer who manages a mineral holding company in Kentucky. “The idea of being loaded full of chemicals and preserved for no good reason makes no sense to me.” UT tries to keep a generally low profile for the shady glade behind the hospital. Chain link and fencing topped with razor wire surround the two-acre site, partly to keep fraternity brothers—or Halloween cultists—from their midnight rounds.