A chump & his chimp
Tragic tale of a man obsessed with apes
Over his 22-year lifetime, a chimpanzee named Reuben ran free just once, in 2005. His brief liberty did not end well.
For two decades, Reuben was top attraction at a quirky little zoo in Royal, a gone-toseed hamlet in the sticks of northeast Nebraska.
Royal was hometown to the ape-obsessed Dick Haskin, who as a schoolboy was inspired by Jane Goodall’s livein study of African chimpanzees.
Haskin dreamed of trekking to Africa to follow in the bootprints of Goodall and another idol, Dian Fossey, the “Gorillas in the Mist” author who lived among the jungle giants of Rwanda until her murder there in 1985.
Haskin never made it out of Nebraska.
He studied life science in Lincoln, then went to work scooping poop at that city’s children’s zoo. But by dint of his ape zeal, the slight, bald young man soon was regarded as a simian expert — despite a lack of experience and credentials.
Haskin had been working there just a few months when Reuben arrived in Lincoln in 1984, a rambunctious toddler loaned by the St. Louis Zoo.
They bonded immediately — in Haskin’s mind, more of a father-son relationship than trainer-beast, according to Carson Vaughan, who dissects the story in his book “Zoo Nebraska.”
The tale is one part Zane Grey, two parts Carl Hiaasen.
Haskin earned notice for attempting to teach Reuben hand signals, “Chimpanzee Goes Ape Over Sign Language,” said the Lincoln paper.
But he faced an existential dilemma. Like his primatologist idols, he was morally opposed to zoos even as he held his buddy Reuben captive.
A resolution seemed to present itself when, incredibly, the St. Louis Zoo agreed to name Haskin custodian of Reuben, who would become the first resident subject of Haskin’s “Midwest Primate Research Facility” in his tiny hometown.
He envisioned a $5 million facility with 10 primates and 25 employees. It was a mirage.
Reuben arrived in Royal caged in the back of a pickup truck on Aug. 1, 1986. The “facility” amounted to a trailer linked to a corn crib.
Antelope County’s resident chimpanzee began to attract curious citizens, even in his humble quarters. It occurred to Haskin and his newly appointed board of directors that Reuben presented income potential.
Despite Haskin’s aversion, his research center was rebranded a zoo and stocked with about 30 species, and included a petting section.
The Royal menagerie had 4,000 visitors in its first year — in a county with fewer than 8,000 residents.
Still, the zoo was broke. Haskin worked 20-hour days, aided by volunteers, and Reuben still lived in a trailer.
Deliverance seemed to arrive in 1990 when TV talker Johnny Carson, a northeast Nebraska native, donated $55,000 to build a new home for Reuben and the companion chimps Haskin hoped to acquire.
But the new cinderblock building named for Carson did not fix the zoo’s budget. In 2000, Haskin — bedraggled and earning just $3,500 a year — finally escaped from the zoo he created, telling the board, “I’ve got to (quit) because if I don’t, I’m going to die.”
He was succeeded by more underpaid zoo directors, hired based on proximity, not qualifications.
The isolated Reuben did finally get chimp pals. The hulking Jimmie Joe arrived in 2001 from an exotic-animal ranch in Kansas. He was followed in 2003 by Tyler and Ripley, ex-animal actors bought with another $20,000 from Carson.
The zoo added more exotics, including tigers, dingoes, wolves and a camel. The species count reached 60 by 2004, when Zoo Nebraska had a record 17,500 visitors.
But it still could not afford qualified help, which became tragically clear on Sept. 10, 2005.
Volunteers cleaning the chimp enclosure left a door unlocked. At noon on that infernal Saturday, the four evercurious primates went for a stroll.
Panicked cries went up around Royal: “The chimps are loose!”
Zoo patrons were hustled indoors and the hamlet went into lockdown.
As zoo director Ken Schlueter Jr. explained, chimps “are very dangerous when loose.”
State police raced in as an armed posse, which included Schlueter and stalked the animals, which stayed near the zoo.
The chimp named Ripley amused himself on a swing set, then hurried back to the safety of his cage when the shooting began.
His fellow ex-actor, Tyler, was cut down with gunshots by Schlueter and another man. Reuben died in a second hail of gunfire, shot in the back as he scaled a fence. Jimmy Joe took shelter in a parked van after he was shot by a trooper, then was killed as he made a dash to escape the bullets.
By author Vaughan’s account, the three chimps died moaning and wailing.
Schlueter said he had no choice.
“When it became apparent there’d be danger here,” he said, “they had to be destroyed.”
But Vaughan’s book is a catalog of bad decisions — by Haskin, Schlueter and other zoo personnel, by the USDA, which regulates zoos, and by Carson, who never visited Royal. Carson died eight months before the shootings.
The state shuttered the place as Schlueter and board members bickered shamelessly over the remains, including equipment and a camel.
Haskin, who was not party to the bloodshed, says he lives with remorse for the Royal mess he created.
“My heart still aches for Reuben each and every day,” he told Vaughan.