Zoo’s progress stirs memories of lions, swans and Pop-Pop
“Just make sure you head for home as soon as you hear the lion roar.”
OK – so, and I’ll make this statement with all the confidence in the world – not too many suburban children have heard those words come out of their parents’ mouths. I have. And so did most of the kids in my North End neighborhood. Because, when you heard the lion roar, it was feeding time -- for him and the neighborhood kids.
The backup plan was the ringing of the church bells – if you heard the church bells – because maybe the lion had laryngitis that day – you went straight home for dinner.
Norristown – Land of a 1,000 Churches. And a zoo in the North End. Last weekend’s event at Elmwood Park Zoo – the sneak peek of the new jaguar exhibit -- was a stunning example of Al Zone’s ability to make something out of nothing. OK, that’s probably an exaggeration – the zoo wasn’t “nothing” when he took over. But he has made terrific strides in creating a perfect family destination in the county. Heck, in the Delaware Valley. Really, how many people can say they’ve ever fed giraffes? Probably more than the number of people who had to be home when a lion roared, I’d guess -- but not a vast population.
And now we have the jaguar cubs. Had one or both of the cubs gone missing, a few co-workers and family members would have pinned me as the number-one suspect for the cub-napping.
I drive by the zoo fairly often – and am amazed at the traffic jam and invented parking spaces that surround the entrance. I was officiating basketball games on a warm Sunday in early March at Eisenhower middle school (on Coolidge and Harding boulevards), and couldn’t find a parking spot because of the zoo traffic.
The new construction that’s happening, the playground, the eagles, Treetop Adventures, carnivals – all of it is terrific and all of it is a short car ride (or even a pleasant walk) away from most people reading this.
But even with all the improvements, with all the activities and excitement – my heart still belongs to that zoo of yesteryear.
Thinking back to that particular zoo – it occurs to me that it
was probably a nightmare for the animals. But I’m guessing they didn’t know any better, and society wasn’t as enlightened and compassionate as it is now. So, it didn’t matter that the king of the jungle was relegated to an 8x8 cell. Holy heck, I can’t continue this train of thought…too depressing.
While the lion’s living conditions aren’t pleasant thoughts, my visits to that prison-like zoo are terrific memories.
I couldn’t have been more than 6 years old when my grandfather, Pop-Pop Tom (Cahill), took me regularly to the zoo. He was probably pushing 80 at that point, and had a bad heart. He taught me how to count to 10 because when he was going up steps he had to wait 10 seconds before moving up to the next riser.
Anyway, Pop would take me by the hand through the zoo. We’d check out our lion, say hello to the gorilla – the lion’s nextdoor neighbor in his own 8x8 cell. There may have been a bear, but I’m afraid to think too hard about that. Too depressing. I just know there was a line of those cages housing various big animals, and the lion was the star.
The last stop for me and Pop was always the buffalo yard – not to see the buffalo – to see the peacock. The peacock was the main attraction, at least for me, at the zoo. And Pop and I would wait for what seemed like hours in the hopes the peacock would open its beautiful feathers. Some days he did, most days he didn’t. But it was never a waste of time – I was holding the hand of my most favorite person in the world.
When we got hungry, Pop and I left the zoo and walked down the path along Stony Creek (crick, if you must know). We always stopped at the dam, and Pop would slowly bend his lanky 6-foot-1 frame, pick up stones just right for skipping, and hand me a few. Since he had already taught me how to skip, we’d spend a few minutes trying to get as many skips as we could.
After the last of the stones were skipped we’d continue down the path to the Fire Chief’s Memorial Band Shell (just the band shell, of course) and sit on one of the many benches that were neatly lined in rows (the area is all grass now). We’d eat our peanut butter sandwiches, he’d tell me funny jokes and then we would just sit and rest quietly. Always he’d point to the sky, reminding me to appreciate how beautiful God made the world and that isn’t remarkable that those big white fluffy clouds aren’t moving, we are?
To me, the zoo, that peacock and those skipping stones were some of the best things in my childhood. Which is why, when my children were little, I took them to the zoo.
By then, some 20 years later – things had changed – for the better. The rowhouse cages were gone, replaced by Cougar Country. The peacocks were still there, hanging out with the now-bison, and the “stink house” was still a place to avoid – for the aforementioned stink and the annoyingly loud birds it housed. But the new stars of the zoo were the spider monkeys – Napoleon and Josephine – and the petting zoo, starring goats who never, ever had their fill of feeding pellets.
And stationed at the entrance – in the vicinity of the duck pond and the spider monkeys, was the lion’s mouth. Not the real lion, but a plastic one where the kids threw the donation (no cost to get in, just a donation).
The granddaddy of the zoo, the duck pond – which, when I was a kid was just a big cement pond painted the same blue of the “kiddy pool” that was down by the basketball courts and Latshaw Field (McCarthy hadn’t yet been added to the name) that never, ever had water in it – remained a star attraction But this version of the duck pond, while visually more pleasing and more “user-friendly,” was home to the meanest, nastiest swan ever hatched. Anyone, and I mean anyone, who has been to the zoo knows of what I speak. Katie Kohler touched on this menace in her column last week, and actually once referred to it on her Facebook page by a somewhat colorful nickname. Suffice to say it wasn’t very family-friendly – the nickname or the stupid swan that was clearly in need of anger management.
I was at the Philadelphia Zoo a few weeks ago with Matthew’s school. There’s a duck pond there as well. As we looked at all ducks, a chaperone from a different school told another parent how the Norristown zoo had the meanest, nastiest swan ever.
So, Philly fans throw snowballs at Santa, Norristown swans attack children. Nice.
As the zoo continues to morph into something beyond expectations, I’ll enjoy the traffic, the attention and the good impression this little slice of Norristown gives visitors. But, again, my heart will always belong to the zoo of my grandfather’s time.
Unless Al Zone can get an Okapi – my spirit animal. If he can do the impossible and wrangle an Okapi, I’ll be at the zoo every darn day.