bcleveland
Senior Member
This is a story from the San Francisco Chronicle about my uncle.You cant make this stuff up
You know the job game?
That's the game people play, almost automatically, when they meet at a bar or a party. Everybody says their name and what they do for a living; coolest job wins.
Rick Cleveland wins the job game hands down. Every time."Animal transportation" is what he calls it. One might assume that he's talking about hauling cattle. But that would be wrong. Because it's not a question of what Cleveland does haul. It's a question of what he doesn't.
"I won't do giraffes," he said. "I won't do elephants. I won't do rhinos. ... Lions, tigers, bears - those are a piece of cake."
And so, apparently is the American alligator. Cleveland, 57, has hauled thousands of them over his 25 years in the animal transportation business.
"There's not many people who do it," he said. "For obvious reasons."
On Tuesday, Cleveland delivered two alligators from Florida to Golden Gate Park, where they will be star attractions at Steinhart Aquarium at the California Academy of Sciences, which reopens Sept. 27.
Swamp mixes old and new
Awaiting the pair was a swamp incorporating aspects of the old lair many remember from childhood - like the bronze seahorse railing dating from 1923 - and modern innovations, viewing areas above and below water and a heated lounge rock.
The reptiles will be cared for by a team of biologists. But to move the gators - a male and female, each about 8 feet from teeth to tail - the biologists relied on the expert.
One Steinhart Aquarium keeper had a foot chomped during a temporary move in 1982.
While he's happy to chat about his work, Cleveland doesn't tell wild tales about animals that have gotten loose - because, he insists, there aren't any.
"You try not to have any problems ... we just want it to be real boring," he said.
Real boring was what some had deemed the swamp's previous inhabitants - people used to stand at the railing and place bets on whether the reptiles were real, said museum spokeswoman Stephanie Stone.
Those animals are now enjoying their retirement Georgia. The new arrivals, hatched in Florida in 1995, are more vigorous, a trait that the aquarium hopes to encourage by housing them with giant snapping turtles and a variety of fish. Vigorous is not exactly a characteristic one seeks in an alligator one is planning to move - the animals are not sedated for transport - and Cleveland expected some resistance.
"Typical alligators. Bad attitudes," he said.
Cleveland's second cousin, Justin - who came along for the ride - and museum employees Levelle Alderson and Omar McCutcheon helped unload the first plywood crate.
The occupant of the crate hissed. McCutcheon's eyes widened.
"He doesn't sound too happy," he said.
Actually, it was a she, and she wasn't - an irritation she displayed when Cleveland opened the crate for a medical inspection outside the swamp. The female alligator - nameless, but temporarily dubbed "Lady" - struggled away from Cleveland's hooks and lassos.
Headlock does the job
Finally Cleveland reached out an ungloved hand and hauled the gator out in a headlock, the animal's jaws working to loosen the pink tape binding her jaw. Aquarium biologists leapt to hold the struggling animal for an examination by veterinarian Freeland Dunker.
The exam finished, Lady was eased back into her box, with a last-minute pause while Cleveland and biologist Nicole Chaney eased the tape from her jaws before quickly closing the crate.
Box No. 2 contained Claude, a 100-inch-long male albino alligator. Cleveland once again went in bare-handed, hauling the reptile out by its tail. For a moment, Claude stood free, his ivory skin glowing and pink eyes blinking. Then he vanished under a crowd of dedicated biologists.
Claude appreciated his medical examination even less than Lady; an especially personal examination by Dunker triggered a tail swat that nearly hurled assistant curator Brenda Melton off the animal and into a wall.
("I didn't let go of his tail," Melton exulted later. "Never let go. Never, ever let go.")
But soon enough, Claude was ready for the final stage of moving.
Lady meets the turtle
Cleveland clambered down a ladder and onto the heated lounging rock as a crane crew began hoisting Lady's crate into the exhibit. Cleveland opened the crate and tipped Lady into the swamp with a loud splash. She immediately swam toward the far end of the tank where a giant snapping turtle bolted for the bottom.
Soon Claude, too, splashed into the water, his ivory skin standing out against the green plants and dark rocks. Lady's olive scales, at the far end of the pool, looked like a submerged log or patch of mud. Which is why albino alligators are rarely spotted in the wild, said aquarium director Christopher Andrews - they tend to be picked off as babies by predators.
Academy employees applauded as Cleveland clambered out of the swamp, fingers still intact. A snapping turtle sidled up alongside Claude, placing a flipper across the alligator's back; Claude didn't seem to mind.
Outside, Cleveland began packing the plywood crates back into his truck with Justin's help.
"I'm good with what I do," Justin said. "This seems like it could be dangerous."
Tonight, as his second cousin heads off to pick up his next load of alligators, Justin Cleveland will be heading back to Arizona, where he works. As a fighter pilot.
You know the job game?
That's the game people play, almost automatically, when they meet at a bar or a party. Everybody says their name and what they do for a living; coolest job wins.
Rick Cleveland wins the job game hands down. Every time."Animal transportation" is what he calls it. One might assume that he's talking about hauling cattle. But that would be wrong. Because it's not a question of what Cleveland does haul. It's a question of what he doesn't.
"I won't do giraffes," he said. "I won't do elephants. I won't do rhinos. ... Lions, tigers, bears - those are a piece of cake."
And so, apparently is the American alligator. Cleveland, 57, has hauled thousands of them over his 25 years in the animal transportation business.
"There's not many people who do it," he said. "For obvious reasons."
On Tuesday, Cleveland delivered two alligators from Florida to Golden Gate Park, where they will be star attractions at Steinhart Aquarium at the California Academy of Sciences, which reopens Sept. 27.
Swamp mixes old and new
Awaiting the pair was a swamp incorporating aspects of the old lair many remember from childhood - like the bronze seahorse railing dating from 1923 - and modern innovations, viewing areas above and below water and a heated lounge rock.
The reptiles will be cared for by a team of biologists. But to move the gators - a male and female, each about 8 feet from teeth to tail - the biologists relied on the expert.
One Steinhart Aquarium keeper had a foot chomped during a temporary move in 1982.
While he's happy to chat about his work, Cleveland doesn't tell wild tales about animals that have gotten loose - because, he insists, there aren't any.
"You try not to have any problems ... we just want it to be real boring," he said.
Real boring was what some had deemed the swamp's previous inhabitants - people used to stand at the railing and place bets on whether the reptiles were real, said museum spokeswoman Stephanie Stone.
Those animals are now enjoying their retirement Georgia. The new arrivals, hatched in Florida in 1995, are more vigorous, a trait that the aquarium hopes to encourage by housing them with giant snapping turtles and a variety of fish. Vigorous is not exactly a characteristic one seeks in an alligator one is planning to move - the animals are not sedated for transport - and Cleveland expected some resistance.
"Typical alligators. Bad attitudes," he said.
Cleveland's second cousin, Justin - who came along for the ride - and museum employees Levelle Alderson and Omar McCutcheon helped unload the first plywood crate.
The occupant of the crate hissed. McCutcheon's eyes widened.
"He doesn't sound too happy," he said.
Actually, it was a she, and she wasn't - an irritation she displayed when Cleveland opened the crate for a medical inspection outside the swamp. The female alligator - nameless, but temporarily dubbed "Lady" - struggled away from Cleveland's hooks and lassos.
Headlock does the job
Finally Cleveland reached out an ungloved hand and hauled the gator out in a headlock, the animal's jaws working to loosen the pink tape binding her jaw. Aquarium biologists leapt to hold the struggling animal for an examination by veterinarian Freeland Dunker.
The exam finished, Lady was eased back into her box, with a last-minute pause while Cleveland and biologist Nicole Chaney eased the tape from her jaws before quickly closing the crate.
Box No. 2 contained Claude, a 100-inch-long male albino alligator. Cleveland once again went in bare-handed, hauling the reptile out by its tail. For a moment, Claude stood free, his ivory skin glowing and pink eyes blinking. Then he vanished under a crowd of dedicated biologists.
Claude appreciated his medical examination even less than Lady; an especially personal examination by Dunker triggered a tail swat that nearly hurled assistant curator Brenda Melton off the animal and into a wall.
("I didn't let go of his tail," Melton exulted later. "Never let go. Never, ever let go.")
But soon enough, Claude was ready for the final stage of moving.
Lady meets the turtle
Cleveland clambered down a ladder and onto the heated lounging rock as a crane crew began hoisting Lady's crate into the exhibit. Cleveland opened the crate and tipped Lady into the swamp with a loud splash. She immediately swam toward the far end of the tank where a giant snapping turtle bolted for the bottom.
Soon Claude, too, splashed into the water, his ivory skin standing out against the green plants and dark rocks. Lady's olive scales, at the far end of the pool, looked like a submerged log or patch of mud. Which is why albino alligators are rarely spotted in the wild, said aquarium director Christopher Andrews - they tend to be picked off as babies by predators.
Academy employees applauded as Cleveland clambered out of the swamp, fingers still intact. A snapping turtle sidled up alongside Claude, placing a flipper across the alligator's back; Claude didn't seem to mind.
Outside, Cleveland began packing the plywood crates back into his truck with Justin's help.
"I'm good with what I do," Justin said. "This seems like it could be dangerous."
Tonight, as his second cousin heads off to pick up his next load of alligators, Justin Cleveland will be heading back to Arizona, where he works. As a fighter pilot.
