THERE’S A REASON hunters’ trophies tend to end at the neck. A head is more practical than a body. It’s easier to transport, it’s less time-consuming to prepare, and it confers the same bragging rights. Today, I count 29 heads—most taxidermied, some shrunken—on display in the Adventurers Club’s spacious old headquarters in downtown Chicago. Plus four attached to torsos: mine, David Brown’s, club honcho Howard Rosen’s, and that of Struve’s shrunken boy.