Fear of the Animal Planet - Jason Hribal Counterpunch

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certainly did not see himself as a machine. Resistance was his new thought. He flew into terrible rages. He tried repeatedly to escape. He hurled his body against his enclosure. On one occasion, while attempting to ram his fearsome tusks through the iron-doors of his exhibition cage, Jumbo injured himself so severely that surgery was required. Matthew Scott oversaw the procedure and, as usual, was able to calm the giant beast. The keeper’s most successful method to soothe the elephant’s nerves actually involved supplying Jumbo with large quantities of beer. This even became a ritual between the two: drinking time. Once, when the trainer forgot to give Jumbo his share of the nightly brew, he was slammed to the floor by the thirsty giant. Scott never made that mistake again. Yet, there were times—increasing in number as the years wore on—when inebriation did not work to quiet the elephant. It reached a point where Regent Park directors lived in constant fear of what Jumbo might do next. So afraid did they become that the principle director purchased an elephant gun for the protection of the zoo and its employees. If a fight ever got completely out of hand, Jumbo would be shot dead. But just when the situation looked its worse, the London zoo received an amazing stroke of good fortune.

      P.T. Barnum’s American circus, promoted as the Greatest Show on Earth, was lacking a center piece—that truly grand figure among other great spectacles. Barnum’s archrival, the Cooper and Bailey’s Allied Show, had its star: the baby Columbia. She was the first elephant ever born in captivity in the United States, and Barnum had made many bids to purchase her. But the Allied Show refused to sell. So Barnum did the next best thing, luring James Bailey to his side, and then went right on searching for another big-time celebrity. He soon found what he was looking for in London. This was Jumbo, a true icon with enough star power to fill his big top every night of the week. Barnum offered the zoo $10,000 for the elephant.

      The Regent Park directors were elated. This was a lot of money, and Jumbo had simply grown too dangerous to keep. He had to be sold. The zoo, however, was not prepared for the sheer scale of negative publicity that it would receive regarding this move. The British public was outraged at the idea of shipping Jumbo off to the States. Thousands of children wrote letters to the Queen in protest. Lawsuits were filed to block the sale. Newspapers openly vilified park administrators. Yet, the zoo would not be swayed from its decision.

      In the spring of 1882, patrons funneled in to catch one last glimpse of Jumbo and wave good-bye. Crowds of this size had never before been seen at Regents Park, and the zoo itself profited handsomely from this planned farewell, pocketing $40,000 in ticket sales alone. But the final day did come, and the elephant was escorted from his exhibit area and led onto the main grounds. The original plan was to load Jumbo into a large container, which would then be paraded through the London streets. The journey would end at a Thames quay for shipping. This plan, though, proved to be a far more difficult to carry out than first imagined. For Jumbo declined to enter the container.

      Matthew Scott, his trainer, tried every technique he could think of to coax the huge elephant into the crate. But each time, Jumbo would approach, stop short, and proceed to lie down on the ground. After that, there was no budging him. As the days passed and embarrassment mounted, the London press declared that this delay was a testament to the fact that the elephant did not want to leave England. Barnum was not amused, and his agent in London grew impatient. The circus’s chief handler was sent for. William Neuman, otherwise known as Elephant Bill, was Barnum’s most notorious and brutal trainer. Instead of offering pachyderms a gallon of pale ale, Elephant Bill opted for a spear-like lance as his primary motivational tool. After his trip across the Atlantic, Neuman set to work straightaway at the reconditioning of Jumbo.

      At first, the trainer tried more gentle means of persuasion: verbal commands, pushing, prodding. But none of these were successful. Next, he fitted the elephant with leg chains and pulled on the beast. This method too failed. Jumbo just flatly refused to enter the container. Neuman then pulled out his trusty lance and began using the weapon, but the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals intervened and put a stop to the stabbings. Neuman was furious: both at this level of oversight, which would have never happened in the States, and at his own inability to quell Jumbo’s recalcitrance. It was rumored that the American trainer even threatened to shoot the elephant, if that was the only way to get the animal to Barnum. Ultimately the use of lethal force was not needed, as Scott was finally able to convince Jumbo to walk into the crate. Some speculated that Scott himself was partially responsible for this delay, as he wanted to demonstrate his own self-importance. Nevertheless, after chaining the elephant into place, the trainers found themselves in trouble once again. Jumbo had abruptly changed his mind about the move and began to struggle with all his might, straining the iron chains and quaking the thick bars of the wheeled enclosure. But it was of no use. Not even the world’s largest elephant could break free this time. Jumbo was taken out of Regents Park and transported down the Thames to the coast. From there, the elephant was hoisted onboard the HMS Assyrian Monarch for his long awaited trip across the Atlantic.

      Jumbo reached New York harbor on Easter Sunday. With great fanfare, he marched through Midtown Manhattan to Madison Square Garden. The circus season had just kicked off, and he was now a member of P.T. Barnum’s extravaganza. For the next several years, Jumbo would toil for Barnum. He traversed the country, shuffling from town to town. He rode on what must have seemed to be an endless train, being loaded up in a boxcar every night and unloaded every morning.

      Jumbo was paired with Tom Thumb, the world’s smallest elephant. Together, the pair of contrasting pachyderms would parade around the arena at the close of afternoon and evening programs. Life in the circus was a grind. The typical season lasted eight months, from March to October. Performances occurred six days a week, twice a day.

      By his twenty-fourth year, the greatest star on Earth had been worn out. Whereas Barnum and others had made millions of dollars from this elephant, Jumbo himself had little to show for it. His body was exhausted, his strength sapped, and his vitality drained. Jumbo could barely even lie down. When he did, it was a struggle to return upright. Scott thought privately that Jumbo might not make it through another year on the circuit. And yet, another circus season had just begun. Opening in New York, the Barnum and Bailey big top had already traveled through Pennsylvania, New England, and Maritime Canada. By September it was in Ontario.

      There are several versions of events that unfolded on September 15, 1885: the night that Jumbo the elephant was killed. Each begins in a similar manner. The circus was in St. Thomas, a small town located in the southern region of the province. The final performance had just ended. Tom and Jumbo were in the process of being led back to their respective train cars by Matthew Scott. While all three were walking along the tracks, the sound of a fast approaching freight train could be heard in the distance. It is at this point where the stories diverge.

      One version has Scott, heroically but unsuccessfully, attempting to lead the elephants to safety by guiding them down a shallow embankment that bordered one side of the tracks. Another has the trainer scrambling off on his own, leaving the pair of elephants to their own devices. In both scenarios, the first to be hit by the locomotive was tiny Tom Thumb. Tossed into the air like a rag-doll, he crashed into a nearby pole and sustained serious, but not life-threatening, injuries. Tom, years later, would be sold to the Central Park Zoo in New York City, where he would spend the rest of his days.

      Jumbo was the next to be struck. It happened in one of three ways. The first account has the elephant initially following Scott down the embankment. However, Jumbo got confused or scared by the on-coming train, raced back up onto the tracks, and was hit from behind. Another has Jumbo rushing along the tracks. He was apparently looking for a gap in the line of stationary train-cars, which bordered the opposite side. But he missed the opening, and, when he doubled back, the train smashed into him. A third version has Jumbo escaping from Scott and charging towards the train. He rammed the engine head-on.

      As for how Jumbo ultimately died, that also depends on which version of the story you believe. Some said that the world’s most famous elephant was killed almost immediately. While others stated that he suffered for at least three hours before dying. Barnum himself cooked up his own tall tale: claiming that Jumbo died instantly after sacrificing his own life to rescue little Tom Thumb from the speeding train.

      In the end, none of these unknowns, discrepancies, or fabrications are important. Jumbo

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