Death at SeaWorld: Shamu and the Dark Side of Killer Whales in Captivity

by David Kirby

  The diners were introduced to the narrating trainer, Jan “Jay” Topoleski; the spotting trainer, Lynne Schaber; and the control trainer for the show, Dawn Brancheau. For the first few minutes, triumphalist ballad music and a wailing female vocalist blasted through the speakers as Tilikum swam slowly around the pool.

  Bobby and Todd Connell took turns videotaping the event. The images they gathered on that overcast afternoon would soon be seen all over the world.

  “Welcome to SeaWorld!” the stage manager said. “Now, we’d like to teach you a little bit about the whales. Hi, Jay!”

  Jay, who was standing on the south side of the pool, opposite the dining tables, began the narration. “Are you excited?” he cried. “Are you ready to meet Shamu?” Everyone cheered. “We’re gonna show you guys how we actually interact and how we train our Shamu whale every day!”

  As Jay spoke, Tilikum popped his big head out of the water right in front of the Connells’ table. Dawn, standing just feet away, threw a few smelt into his gaping pink mouth.

  A bit later, Todd Connell videotaped Dawn, now across the pool and standing on a smooth stainless-steel plate used to weigh the orcas. She was on her knees, inches away from Tilikum, shoveling fish into his mouth from a bucket. Then she kissed him on the rostrum.

  “Guys, this is the largest male killer whale in any marine park facility in the world,” Jay said as Dawn dropped more fish in Tilly’s mouth. “I kid you not. He’s about twelve thousand pounds. That’s six tons of fun and love!” The audience chuckled. Dawn gave Tilikum another hand signal, sending the whale into a barrel roll and then straight toward the tables across the pool.

  “There he goes,” Jay said. “A big hello for Shamu!” Tilikum rose up in a spy-hop right in front of the delighted guests. “Whoa! Shamu!” Jay said. Tilly began screeching, like an EMS siren: Uuuuuh-eeeeeee-uuuuuuh.

  “Of course, one of our main responsibilities is helping them to have fun,” Jay continued. “Whales love to have fun!”

  Dawn held up a silvery fish. Tilly nodded, as if to say, “Yes, please.” Dawn signaled him to raise his left pec, and he complied. “Oh, he’s gonna show off that fin a little bit! Look at that!” Jay continued. Tilly slammed his big black paddle onto the water’s surface with a resounding thwack. He then swam along the tables, gingerly making little splashes with his fluke, but not enough to soak the guests the way he might do during the “Believe” show in A Pool.

  A little later, Dawn was back across the pool, once again on the metal scale. “Now, to put this in perspective, our next biggest whale is only half his size, that’s about six thousand pounds,” Jay went on. “That’s incredible! These guys are born at three hundred and fifty pounds and seven feet long. Ladies, that’s like giving birth to Shaquille O’Neal!”

  Dawn began pouring buckets of water into Tilikum’s mouth, another secondary reinforcer he liked. Then she sent him on a “perimeter pec wave,” his second of the show, where he cruised slowly along the tables on his left side, gently rocking his right pectoral fin in a back-and-forth motion, resembling a wave. “He likes waving so much it’s beyond belief,” Jay said.

  Dawn and her spotter, Lynne, returned to the area next to the Connells’ table. “The whole pod is ruled by the females,” Jay continued, “if you can believe that!” Dawn turned around to the audience and cracked a knowing smile. “I can believe it!” she said, and laughed. She then rocked to the left and right, engaging Tilikum in a little dance. The diners laughed and clapped. “That’s very nice!” Jay said. “There’s a lot of dancing going on over there.”

  Dawn gave Tilikum the signal for a “raspberry” (the farting sound orcas can make with their blowholes). But he offered her only a halfhearted, long exhale instead, which earned him an LRS (least reinforcing scenario) or three-second “neutral response.”

  The behaviors and the banter continued. Dawn stimulated Tilikum by splashing water on his abdomen and left pectoral fin. He rolled over in apparent pleasure. Tilly then moved about fifteen feet away, intently watching his trainer. Dawn tossed him a good-size fish, and he caught it. Then another. “Oh, good shot, Dawn!” Jay said as she kept throwing fish to Tilikum. “Three for three! Wow, four—a high one!”

  Then Dawn twirled around like a ballerina, smiling with one arm folded upward, and Tilly spun in the water in time with her. She bridged him with a whistle, then fed him some more fish. “Woo-hoo!” Jay said. “He’s quite a dancer there.”

  Next, Dawn sent Tilly into the slide-out area at the west end of the café for a final pose, fed him a few more fish, then headed over the steep footbridge that spanned the gate between G Pool and the smaller holding pen known as F Pool. She was followed by Lynne Schaber, who walked downstairs to the underwater viewing area to get ready for the big photo opportunity with Tilikum, the denouement of the “Dine with Shamu” experience.

  Dawn walked behind Jay as he continued the narration. “During the course of our interaction today you’ve seen us use the tools of the trade. The whistle, the target, and the bucket of fish. But in reality, the real secret to this relationship—the most important tool we use—is our heart. If we don’t put our heart and soul into building our relationships with the whales, none of this would be possible.”

  Those were among the last words Dawn Brancheau would ever hear.

  A few minutes later, the Connell video shows her lying on her stomach in six to eight inches of water, facing Tilikum; an unnatural smile is plastered across her face. What happened next remains the subject of intense argumentation and speculation.

  Todd Connell switched off his video camera at that instant to join the last stragglers leaving the Cove restaurant, along with his wife and son, Bobby.

  Then Suzanne Connell heard a splash.

  “Hey!” she shouted to Jay. “He took her down! He took her down!” According to Suzanne’s account of the event, Jay had not been looking at Dawn. When he turned and saw that she was gone, he ran to the water and started slapping the surface, desperately trying to call Tilly back.

  Down at the underwater viewing area, Lynne was speaking with about thirty guests who had gathered for the “Photo with Shamu” opportunity, including some guests who had been at the “Dine” event upstairs. Lynne shouted for Dawn through an opening to the pool deck that it was time to send Tilikum down, but he had not yet arrived for the photo.

  Then they saw a splash. Lynne and the guests watched in shock as Tilikum did a great barrel roll to his left and dove deeper into the pool. He had Dawn Brancheau in his mouth.

  Jan Topoleski sounded the emergency alarm as “Dine with Shamu” staff hurried to usher the remaining guests away from G Pool. The Connells stood in shock as the terrible tableau unfolded before them.

  Tilikum pushed Dawn around G Pool, rammed her twice head-on, then dragged her to the bottom and held her there for several seconds. Somehow, she broke free. She made a desperate swim for the surface. The Connells saw her head pop out of the water. She stared into their eyes with a look of panic and a plea for help.

  Tilikum grabbed her once again and pulled her under. The Connells finally left the “Dine” area.

  When the alarm went off at Shamu Stadium, it sent an emergency broadcast, Signal 500, over the park’s internal radio network. SeaWorld staff began running toward G Pool, leaving behind their own duties with animal training and office work. More than thirty employees descended on the scene. Many began to unfurl and deploy the emergency netting, while others continued to try to recall Tilikum with water slaps and the tone box—all to no avail.

  Tilikum would not release his trophy. He swam around the pool rapidly with Dawn in his mouth. When he dove again to the bottom, her motionless body drifted up to the surface. Tilikum swam to the opposite end of the pool, turned around, and moved toward Dawn once again. He gained speed as he approached, then rammed her body for the third time.

  It took more than thirty minutes to corral Tilikum—with Dawn’s body in his mouth—out of G Pool and eventually i
nto the medical pool.

  Once in the med pool, the false bottom was raised and staff managed to cover Tilikum with a net. The whale grasped Dawn by her arm and shoulder. He thrashed around violently, unwilling to relinquish his prize, causing Dawn’s body to flail about like a doll. Several staff members walked on the raised floor to retrieve Dawn, but he continued to thrash about.

  Rescuers spent ten minutes prying Dawn from his jaws. When her body was finally extracted, Tilikum was lowered into the water. But then someone noticed that part of Dawn’s left arm was still in the whale’s mouth. He had to be raised up out of the water once again so that the arm could be retrieved.

  Someone else found Dawn’s ponytail and scalp floating in another pool at the stadium complex.

  Dawn’s body was laid out on the deck next to the med pool. EMS crews on the scene cut away her wet suit and attempted to resuscitate her with a defibrillator. It was no use. Dawn was covered with a sheet to prevent hovering television news helicopters from photographing her body. This heartbreaking image was blasted around the world via satellite. CNN, Fox News, and MSNBC went to split-screen mode and, in a corner of the screen, showed a large killer whale floating alone in a small pool next to a body sheltered by a canopy.

  Every so often, Tilikum would poke his head over the edge and gaze forlornly at Dawn, almost as if to see if she had recovered.

  PART THREE

  AFTER DAWN

  32

  Wake

  The debate over keeping killer whales in captivity will grind on as long as new generations of Orcinus orca are bred and trained to do backflips in artificial oceans for the delight of the public. The battle has only intensified as industry defenders have circled the wagons against assaults from nearly all sides: the media, the courts, the federal government, and, worst of all for SeaWorld and its allies, members of the ticket-buying public.

  It wasn’t always like this.

  Over the decades, the SeaWorld community grew accustomed to public adoration. They had come to expect admiration and respect for their state-of-the-art animal care and training, their wide-ranging projects to rescue and rehabilitate distressed animals, their backing of marine science research, support of habitat conservation, and efforts to educate the public about the richness of life beneath the sea. Despite a few “extremist” detractors such as PETA, HSUS, and other groups, SeaWorld had generally managed to steer clear of major controversy.

  On the morning of February 24, 2010, the company’s image had been as bright and shiny as the great wet Shamu himself. By day’s end, however, the debate over captive killer whales would never be the same.

  Dawn Brancheau’s death that gray afternoon changed everything. The horrible event—tragic and perhaps preventable—forced SeaWorld to revamp its safety procedures for working with killer whales and invest millions in novel technologies such as fast-lifting, false bottoms in the pools. It opened the door to crushing media examination, the likes of which SeaWorld, or any other entertainment company, had never witnessed, and it brought the full force of the Obama administration to bear on what was happening in the pools of Orlando.

  Dawn’s death also upended the dynamics of the captivity debate. The worldwide notice it precipitated prompted people around the world to take a second look at SeaWorld and consider, perhaps for the first time, what life might be like for killer whales outside the ocean. They wanted to know why such an intelligent creature would commit such a brutal act.

  For Naomi Rose, Jeff Ventre, and other captivity opponents, SeaWorld’s protective veneer had been violently stripped away, allowing the sunlight of public scrutiny to penetrate the darker recesses of backstage life at Shamu Stadium. There was no going back now.

  * * *

  When the alarm went off at Shamu Stadium at 1:33 p.m. on February 24, 2010, it not only drew SeaWorld staff from all over the park, it mobilized a small army of emergency responders from outside the facility, including the patrol division, forensics unit, and homicide, robbery, and family-crimes squads of the Orange County Sheriff’s Office (OCSO). Also on-site were authorities from the medical examiner’s office, the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, and the Tampa office of the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA), the powerful inspection and enforcement agency of the US Department of Labor.

  OCSO detectives took witness statements from more than forty people, though only a small number were on-site when Tilikum pulled Dawn from the ledge and into deeper water. The vast majority of “witnesses” were SeaWorld staff that had converged on Shamu Stadium after the emergency was already under way. Just a few of the interviewees were actually at G Pool when Dawn went in, and only two of them—trainer Jay Topoleski and security guard Fredy Herrera—said they saw the actual “grab.” Their eyewitness accounts would soon contradict each other.

  Inexplicably, OCSO detectives spoke with just two guests that day, including a tourist from the Netherlands named Susanne DeWit, who was downstairs at the underwater viewing area waiting for Dawn to send Tilikum below the surface for the after-lunch photo op. She did not see Tilikum grab Dawn, but told detectives that when the two of them appeared in the window, the whale had the trainer by her shoulder and neck.

  Other guests who were at the underwater window, or still up on the terrace, when the attack began were never interviewed by detectives. Later that day they came forward to speak with the media, who descended on the park en masse. Local TV stations began wall-to-wall broadcasts on the killing, including the local NBC affiliate, which interrupted programming from the Winter Olympics in Vancouver.

  Early that afternoon, SeaWorld officials braced themselves for their first of many difficult encounters with reporters. The grim-faced gaggle of executives tasked with the bleak job included Orlando park president Dan Brown, along with head trainers Chuck Tompkins and Kelly Flaherty Clark, her fists clenched into tight balls of grief. Chuck and Kelly were especially close friends with Dawn.

  OCSO spokesman Jim Solomons opened the impromptu briefing, held outside the low-rise buildings that house SeaWorld’s business offices.

  “What happened was we had a female trainer back in the whale holding area,” Solomons said incorrectly—and uncorrected by the SeaWorld executives standing by his side (there was no whale holding area in G Pool). “She apparently slipped or fell into the tank and was fatally injured by one of the whales.” Again, this incorrect information was left unchallenged by the executives.

  There was no sign of foul play and the death appeared to be an accident, Solomons said. He identified the victim only as a forty-year-old female trainer. The whale was likewise unnamed.

  Dan Brown, shaken but composed, read a prepared statement from the company: “It is with great sadness that I announce that one of our most experienced animal trainers drowned in an incident with one of our killer whales this afternoon. We’ve initiated an investigation to determine to the extent possible what occurred.”

  Brown said such an incident was unprecedented in the history of SeaWorld. “Nothing is more important than the safety of our employees, guests, and the animals entrusted to our care.” He added that all standard operating procedures would come under review during the ensuing investigation.

  Reporters pressed the executive for more details on the trainer. His face wracked with pain, Brown pleaded, “It’s still early. Please bear with us. We’ve just lost a member of our family. We’ll get back to you as soon as we have some more information.”

  The press conference was beamed live around the world—and down the street. At their nearby hotel, Todd and Suzanne Connell watched the proceedings in disbelief. After witnessing the carnage in G Pool that so traumatized their son, Bobby, the Connells had been shepherded to a small holding room, where, they said, a pair of SeaWorld managers expressed no sympathy for their ordeal and showed no interest in their statements or the video they had shot in the moments leading up to the attack.

  The Connells were already disgusted with SeaWorld. Now, they
realized from watching the news, park officials were doing nothing to dispel the misstatement that Dawn had slipped or fallen into the water. Todd and Suzanne were outraged. By their own recollections, Tilikum had grabbed Dawn by her long ponytail and flipped her over his body. Todd picked up the phone and called WESH-TV, the NBC affiliate in Orlando. Producers accepted his offer to review the pre-attack video. Todd also called CNN and others. Before long, video crews where showing up at their hotel.

  “We left in tears. Nobody approached us to ask, ‘Are you okay? Is your son okay?’ And that is what I had the hardest thing swallowing,” Suzanne told the WESH reporter. “I got more infuriated when I saw the spokesperson from SeaWorld say she slipped and fell into the tank, which was not what happened at all.”

  Todd Connell recounted what he had witnessed. “I saw her hair in his mouth,” he said of Tilikum. “And he rolled and she went over the top of him and went right up underneath and then he just took her down.”

  The killing had been particularly traumatic for the couple’s son. “I saw her like went up and get some air and somehow back down,” Bobby recounted. “And then twenty minutes after that, I didn’t see her still.” Suzanne said Bobby had been “hysterical.” Todd Connell added, “Thank God I turned my camera off. I would not want to have shot any of what we witnessed.”

  The Connells weren’t the only witnesses to dispute SeaWorld’s official account. Victoria Biniak, visiting with her husband from nearby Clermont, Florida, told Orlando station WKMG-TV that Tilikum “took off really fast in the tank and he came back, shot up in the air, grabbed the trainer by the waist, and started thrashing [her] around.” She said the assault was so violent that Dawn’s bootee “flew off her foot.”

  A SeaWorld employee who requested anonymity confirmed Biniak’s depiction of events and told WKMG that the whale’s name was Tilikum.

  Other witnesses told the Orlando Sentinel that Tilikum had grabbed Dawn by the upper arm before taking her underwater, racing to the other end of the tank, and turning her over like a helpless seal. Brazilian tourist Joao Lucio DeCosta Sobrinho said Dawn was bleeding from her mouth or face. “It was terrible,” he said. “Very difficult to watch that image.”