First Person: Former gorilla keeper shares fond remembrances of working at zoo
Mac smells pungent, has a row of beaded sweat across his nose, as it is unseasonably warm for November. He is antsy, walking the perimeter, inevitably ending up near the overhead chute that will give him access back into the building.
His job is done. He has been on display for much of the day along with his eight troop members, and at this point late in the afternoon, he simply wants to go back inside for some peace and quiet.
Mac is a western lowland gorilla and at 38 he is not only a biological father but also an adoptive father as well — he is the epitome of the gentle silverback. I have known him his entire life, was there the moment he and his twin brother were born, helped raise them in the nursery and assisted with their integration back into a gorilla troop at the age of 3.
I am a former gorilla keeper at the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium (1980 to 2000), and once you have been graced by their presence, your life is never quite the same; you never really get over them. I woke on a recent day with an intense craving to see gorillas, so I headed out to the zoo.
A juvenile gorilla sits high up on a wooden platform snoozing Buddha-like, eyes closed, fingers laced across belly, chin resting on chest. A female is napping on and off in a cloth hammock high up in the center structure of the exhibit, sometimes peering over the side when something of interest happens in the troop below. Youngsters goof around, gamboling and chasing one another.
While talking to a zoo docent, Mac wanders over, peering intently through the display window, giving me a thorough once over as if to confirm my identity. Satisfied, he leaves but will return again and again. I see shades of his father Oscar in him. I also see traces of both his famous grandmother Colo (first gorilla born in captivity) and his kindly grandfather Bongo.
I was speaking with a friend recently, a wildlife veterinarian, about how time has flown by.
“How is it that Mac is 38-years-old, how did that happen?” I ask.
We then marvel at our good fortune to have worked with exotic animals, sharing our respective stories.
I recalled a particular winter day, with a fresh layer of snow on the ground and the snow continuing to fall. The gorillas were settled in for the day, as always relaxed because the building was their own private domain, never open to the public. A cozy day with the morning work routine done — gorillas fed, cages cleaned and loads of fresh bedding added, food chopped small scattered throughout the hay for foraging, and lots of babies and juveniles — all being supervised by the adults.
Sitting on the front bench with a fellow keeper, quietly watching the gorillas, doing informal observations not only to gauge what might be happening in the troops but also truthfully just for the sheer pleasure of witnessing lovely moments between the gorillas.
A mother tenderly nurses her infant, casually examining the infant’s fingers, biting/trimming its nails until the infant squeals in protest; a 4-year-old wisely finds an adult female to sit with for momentary protection after being chased by a couple of rambunctious older juveniles; a silverback trying to nap while his infant daughter decides he would make a fine climbing hill. The infant tests his tolerance with a few playful slaps before climbing onto her dad’s head, sliding down his back until he has had enough and he gathers the infant toward him, holding her close, tickling her until they both erupt in combined laughter.
As I said to my vet friend, “Heaven was a day spent watching gorillas — being enchanted by them.”
Beth Armstrong, 64, lives in Upper Arlington.
Have an essay?
This article originally appeared on The Columbus Dispatch: Former gorilla keeper's visit to zoo brings back fond memories
