"The Animal port’s taken the worry and bother off our shoulders and, believe me, there used to be plenty!" Every zoo curator and livestock dealer whose shipments have benefited from Animal port services feels the same way. The Animal port overlooks nothing that any animal could possibly want. First, in pure logistics, the two-story sun-tan brick building was planned in the most minute detail. The indoor loading area accommodates the biggest trucks that might ever bring in shipments. All gates stay locked until completion of unloading. Because the Animal port stands in the center of Idlewild's cargo area, animals reach the shelter without delay or overexposure to bad weather-an advantage a human traveler might think about wistfully. The Animal port’s 5,000 square feet include 60 kennels and cages with attached exercise runs for cats, dogs and smaller animals. Twelve box stalls, available for horses, have been so devised that when the Animal port has something really large and weighty, such as several elephants, they can be immediately converted to match the guests' requirements. After each occupant-gorilla, cheetah or what have you-leaves to catch its plane, Society workers armed with steam-hoses, scrubbing brushes and disinfectant prepare for the next arrival; like everything about the Animal port, the quarters sparkle. The only creatures the Society doesn't welcome are germs. Medically, the Animal port is equipped to give animal patients everything from a vitamin pill to major surgery in the $8,000 ultramodern veterinary clinic. Specially trained members of the Veterinary Medical Association of New York City take charge of diagnosis and treatment and perform any needed operations. Like humans, animals don't choose convenient times to be sick; the clinic works a 24-hour schedule and, day or night, can go on an emergency basis instantly.
A special isolation ward houses animals stricken by contagious illnesses. Polar bears don't enjoy the same temperature as macaws from the jungle. The Animal port has foreseen this, and the building is entirely climate-conditioned, with individual controls. One area can be made to feel like the North Pole; the one next to it, the Belgian Congo. Animal port workers may become geographically confused, stepping from the arctic to the equator, but the animals stay healthy, cheerful and comfortable. These external comforts make up only part of the story. The Animal port cares for the inner animal, too, and the guests are fussier and more demanding about their food than the clientele of any luxury hotel or restaurant. The commissary and frozen-food department stock exotic items Escoffier never heard of. Chefs in the diet kitchen offer a menu which no maitre d'hotel could hope to approach. It might, in part, read like this:
NECTAR AND HONEY (Special for hummingbirds) ORCHIDS (Squirrel monkeys' favorite) AFRICAN FENNEC FOX PLATIER Meal Worms Raisins Baby Food Rolled Oats ASSORTED FRUITS (For simian patrons) Apples Bananas Oranges HORSE MEAT AU NATUREL (The delight of lions, tigers, ocelots and eagles) VEGETARIAN SPECIALS (For horses, cows, elephants) Assorted Hay and Grains Fresh Greens BEVERAGES Milk, Fresh or Powdered Orange Juice Fresh Water The above only hints at the variety of food served routinely at the Animal port, from bamboo shoots to more commonplace entries such as dog food, dog biscuits, oleo, frozen fish, birdseed. Individual guests often have their own eccentric tastes.
One famous racehorse preferred artichokes. The Animal port had none on hand at the moment, but got them for him in a hurry. "Food, facilities and attention like this, combined with incredibly modest fees, would make for fame anywhere. Live stock breeders, explorers, zookeepers and air transport companies all over the world have learned about the shelter. The first guest was a cat from Paris. During that opening year, the Animal port played host to 21,700 more animals. The number rose 31 percent the following year, to reach 28,500; to 33,000 in 1960; to 55,297 in 1961; and in 1962 to 69,605-without a sign of decrease in the future. Monkeys make up the biggest single group, with over 22,000 so far; tropical birds come next, totaling 12,000 to date. One-of-a-kind animals have included a full-grown polar bear and a pangolin, a type of Malayan anteater. In between come numbers of snow leopards, gorillas, aardvarks, sea lions, walruses, foxes, skunks, lions, tigers, lizards, chinchillas. Most recent visitors have been a phalanger, or Australian flying squirrel; and a Rana Goliath, a giant frog six feet long-spectacular but, in some opinions, not as handsome as an ordinary bullfrog. Running a shelter for guests of these diverse sizes and temperaments demands, among other things, the versatility of a hotel keeper and the organizing ability of a field marshal; perpetual optimism; a grasp of psychology (animal and human); a fairly high degree of immunity to shock; and, of course, an abiding love for animals no matter how rambunctious they may become-which is often very much so. The man with these qualifications is George F. Bauer, the Animal port’s Resident Manager. The fifty-five-year-old Bauer's friendly smile comes from a naturally warm and outgoing disposition, and the wisdom to know that sometimes the best thing to do is just keep smiling."
Manhattan-born Bauer took per-med courses at Corne University for three years, decided he didn't really want to be a doctor and quit to join the New York Police. After two years on the force, he transferred to the Mounted Division and served in it for the next eighteen years. He retired in 1956 and joined the Society as an agent. When the Animal port opened, the Society chose Bauer as the ideal man for the job. Since then, Bauer has drawn on all his capabilities including some he didn't even realize he possessed. Every animal presents a different problem and, considering the thousands of creatures passing through the Animal port, this is enough to test anybody's ingenuity. With simians making up the largest single group of visitors, Bauer has plenty of opportunities to match wits with them. The primates can be most appealing. Baby gorillas, for example, crave affection, love to be held and fussed over. But, like children, the simians change from angels to fiends in a split second. The mischief they find is beyond prediction. One chimpanzee discovered how to unhook his crate clasp. Delighted with this new knowledge, the chimp climbed out and ducked through a window to a food chest. He also challenged Bauer to a wrestling match. Instead of accepting, the quick-thinking manager seized a banana and lured the animal into a nearby cage. Afterward, Bauer installed chimpanzee-proof window locks. The Animal port makes a practice of opening the guests' crates as soon after arrival as possible, to give the animals food and water and let them stretch their legs. Twenty-five South American monkeys took advantage of this operation one day. Before anyone knew what was going on, all twenty five decided to take an unguided tour of the Animal port. They streamed out, dashed en mass into one of the stable rooms and climbed up into the girders. It took Bauer and his assistants six hours to collect them.
A young gorilla didn't take kindly to a veterinarian's attempt to give him an injection. Bauer and two staff members held the gorilla firmly on the operating table, but as soon as the vet approached with a hypodermic the patient tossed his keepers in every direction. One man went bulleting through the door, the vet ended up in a corner, another helper came to rest in the sink. For a moment, it looked as though the gorilla was going to take over the job of running the Animal port. He finally calmed down, resigned his temporary position and strode back to his cage. Two other gorillas acted as if they wanted to be maintenance men at the Animal port. En route to Kobe, Japan, via California, the 400-pound visitors had arrived at the Animal port in cases strewn with banana leaves. Californians don't blink at exotic visitors, but state law strictly prohibits introduction of foreign vegetation. This includes African banana leaves, and Bauer's biggest job was cleaning the cases. He and his assistants began raking busily-until the gorillas grabbed the rakes out of their hands. Bauer wouldn't have minded if the big fellows had done any work with the implements, but the gorillas merely sat there, cradling the rakes in their arms. You just don't take things from gorillas unless they feel like giving them up. The gorillas relinquished the rakes, to seize them again a few minutes later.
This went on for most of the night and it was only toward the small hours of the morning that the last leaf was raked away. Government inspectors complimented the weary Bauer on his thoroughness and Californ
ia was saved from banana leaves. Gorillas, as Bauer well knows, have their childish moments. Dr. Keets Pickett, noted authority on wild animals, recognizes this too and goes so far as to dress his young gorillas in childcare’s clothes. The animals, completely outfitted in diapers, jackets and caps, sit with Dr. Pickett in the passenger area. Bauer had two of Dr. Pickett's traveling companions at the Animal port one day and carried them to the waiting airship. "Here," Bauer said, handing over the fully dressed gorillas, "I've brought your pilot and co-pilot." From what Bauer has seen of gorillas, the airline was lucky that the animals didn't take his remarks seriously. It would have been an interesting flight.
Ninety percent of the dogs arriving at the Animal port from Europe belong to GI's. One armored unit, being transferred to the United States, sent a lion. The unit had adopted the animal as a mascot when it was a cub. Now it weighed 275 pounds and the soldiers decided that their pet would bring them better luck if he were honorably discharged from the service and retired to a zoo. Accordingly, they shipped the lion to the Animal port and detached two sergeants as keepers. The lion showed up first, looking hungry and thirsty. Bauer fed and watered the mascot and released it into one of the Animal port cages. When the sergeants finally appeared, they were a little disturbed at this. They appreciated Bauer's care, but there was one hitch. "The way we get him to go back into his cage," one of the sergeants said, "is to put some meat in it. If he's already eaten, he isn't going to be interested." Bauer faced the possibility of waiting until the lion developed a new appetite. In the meantime, bursting with energy and high spirits, the lion had bitten off a water tap in the cage. The sergeants agreed it might be wiser to get the lion into his traveling case at the earliest opportunity. "He's really very friendly," the sergeant assured Bauer. "I don't think we'll have any trouble." Using the direct approach, the three men entered the cage, surrounded the unsuspecting lion and shoved it into the traveling box.
"What did I tell you?" said the sergeant. "He's just like a big puppy. He loves to jump up on you, too.", "I'm glad," Bauer said, "you didn't mention that before." Bauer was relieved that the transfer went so smoothly. There had been only one uneasy moment. It had taken place before the sergeants' arrival, when the lion, turning frisky, began roaring and racing back and forth in the cage. Bauer, at that point, ducked out of the room and held the door tightly shut. His wife, passing by just then, stopped to see what the trouble was. "We've got a lion in there," Bauer said. "You don't need to tell me," his wife observed. Then she began to scream. "If you're scared," Bauer told her, "stay away from the cage."
"I can't," she said. "You're standing on my foot."
"Expect the unexpected," is George Bauer's motto. It is an easy one to follow because the unexpected happens so often. Since there is no set schedule for arrivals, Bauer can't guess what each new day will bring. Even when people try to alert him ahead of time, it doesn't always work out. One shipper telephoned Bauer that 90 head of cattle, bound for Turkey, would arrive at the Animal port in groups of 30 during the following three days. The appreciative Bauer thanked him for the information. For once, Bauer thought, he would have time to prepare calmly for his guests. Two minutes after putting down the phone, Bauer looked out the window and saw a large cattle van roll into the loading area. The truckers had made better time than estimated. Stretching far down the road were other vans, holding the entire consignment of 90 cows and bulls, all waiting for accommodations.
Until four AM. Bauer and his staff tore out partitions to convert horse stalls into cattle pens. Even then, the cattle lift didn't go as planned. Shortage of cargo space prevented the airlines from flying out the whole shipment and Bauer was left in charge of 12 bulls. They stayed at the Animal port five weeks until the company brought in 14 more heifers to make up a full load. During the waiting period, Idlewild workers dubbed the livestock "Bauer's Herd." Each morning, Bauer would drive his charges into an outdoor enclosure and bring them back again at dusk. "The airport people got a big kick out of that," Bauer says. "They liked the idea of cattle browsing around. It made Idlewild look so restful."
Along with expecting the unexpected goes Bauer's talent for improvising. When four enormous sea lions, traveling from California to Hamburg, Germany, were grounded because of a shipping error, Bauer offered to take them. Only after his invitation was gratefully accepted did Bauer realize he had never dealt with sea lions in his life. Undaunted, Bauer proved his ingenuity by packing huge blocks of ice around the sea lions' cases and installing a shower nozzle to spray cold water. For the animals' menu, Bauer provided smelts. The sea lions stayed eight days. From their joyous yelps and enthusiastic applause, Bauer assumed they enjoyed every minute of it. When cargo handlers walked off the job, refusing (understandably) to unload a pair of Bengal tigers, Bauer undertook the job. The problem was to transfer the tigers from one set of traveling cases to another. Using two-by-fours, Bauer and his men rigged up a sturdy passageway between the two containers. As a further precaution, Bauer parked a truck behind the new cases, where it functioned as a backstop.
"Tigers come out fast," Bauer says. "They have enough push to knock the whole business apart.", Had that happened, Bauer would have been confronted with two tigers on the loose. Fortunately, he wasn't called on to solve this problem, but he undoubtedly would have thought of something. Bauer has to use as much imagination in dealing with humans as he does with animals. Many of the owners and keepers don't speak English. Usually, he can find an interpreter among all the nations represented at Idlewild. A Hindu elephant boy nearly stumped him, but Bauer telephoned Air India and was able to carry on a three-way conversation. First, Bauer told the Air India people what he wanted to tell the mahout; the mahout would listen to the translation, tell Air India what he had to say, hand the receiver back to Bauer, who would take over again. The system didn't match the UN's simultaneous translations, but it worked. It turned out that, among other things, the mahout wanted a haircut. The mahout was also disturbed because his elephant wouldn't eat. Elephant-tending is an honored profession in India, handed down from father to son, and a sick animal would have ruined the mahout's reputation at home-especially since the elephant was a gift from the children of India to the children of America. Despite his skill, the mahout could discover no way to perk up his valuable charge. Bauer finally called the Bronx Zoo, whose curator recommended bread and carrots. The diet worked well, although Bauer was surely pegged for a very odd shopper at the supermarket, where he went in search of extra provisions. There, Bauer loaded his cart with bread-twenty loaves of it. At the checking station, the startled clerk shook his head. "Mister," he said, "that must be one big turkey you're going to stuff."
"I'm not going to stuff a turkey," Bauer answered, "I'm going to stuff an elephant." If the supermarket clerk considered Bauer a nut, one druggist thought him a downright fraud. Resident Manager means just what it says: Bauer and his wife live in a charming four-room apartment on the second floor of the Animal port. This is difficult for some people to believe, as Bauer learned when his wife developed a cough during an auto trip through Florida. Bauer stopped to buy a codeine compound. He signed the narcotics book, paid for his purchase and started out the door. The druggist raced after him. "Hey!" he shouted. "What are you trying to pull? What kind of a phony address is this? Idlewild International Airport! Nobody lives on an airport!"
"I do," Bauer said. He showed the man his business card. After much explanation, Bauer was allowed to leave with the medicine. He still has the impression the druggist wasn't quite convinced. The airport residence does have another slight disadvantage. Mrs. Bauer has to drive ten miles to reach the nearest shopping center; and while she has plenty of neighbors-20,000 Idlewild employees-she can't pop next door to borrow a cup of sugar. On the other hand, she can always find a bunch of bananas or a bushel of orchids. Nevertheless, living at the Animal port helps Bauer give his charges the constant attention they require. Animal port guests have included Iron Liege, the Kentucky Derby winner; Jamin, the
French trotter; Ribald, an Italian stud horse insured for $6,000,000. Bauer has looked after animals belonging to celebrities such as the late Aly Khan, Elizabeth Arden, Arthur Godfrey and Victor Borge.
But an owner's fame doesn't figure in Animal port operations. The animal comes first; Bauer and the Animal port staff are as attentive to the needs of a lonely kitten as they are to the welfare of a million-dollar thoroughbred. One of the airlines attaches a special red-and-white label to all its animal crates, whether they hold prickly porcupines, leopards or baby monkeys. It reads, HANDLE WITH LOVE. The Society's Animal port takes this advice to heart.
22 - The Scent of Friendship
"Handle with love," may be another clue to Ryan's secret for getting along with animals. Some people swear he carries a supply of tranquilizers up his sleeve. Others disregard the tranquilizer theory and insist that he mutters some kind of Irish spell. Ryan does neither. Tranquilizers might conceivably come in handy in rescue work (more for the human than the animal) but Ryan has never felt the need for them. Of Irish spells he knows nothing, although he occasionally wishes he did. They would make life a lot easier. A more scientific explanation might be that Ryan doesn't give off a fear-scent. Some authorities believe that when a human being is scared and his adrenalin and other glands start working faster, he emits an unmistakable scent which animals detect immediately. This could be part of Ryan's secret-but not all of it. No human being is totally fearless and Ryan admits that sometimes he has had the pants scared off him. There is a simpler and perhaps unprovable possibility. If animals recognize the scent of fear, it might be plausible to wonder whether they also recognize another scent: the scent of friendship. Ryan cares deeply about animals and this attitude may well show up in subtle movements, tone of voice, gestures and general attitude. Humans, often unconsciously, respond to a similar quality in other humans.
Fifty Years in the Doghouse Page 20
