Tuesday, April 28, 2020

My Rabbit Box Story


Rabbit Box, for those unfamiliar with it, is a monthly gathering in which eight people tell a personal story related to the theme for that month. The Athens edition of Rabbit Box began sometime in 2012 and I appeared, I think, in September. Each story teller is limited to no more than eight minutes and must tell their story without visual aids or notes. Each person interprets what the theme means to them. The theme for the month I presented my story was “Origins.” My idea was to tell my personal story of becoming a herpetologist.

In Rabbit Box you have eight minutes to tell your story without notes or visual aids. Telling a personal story in a short period of time is not as easy as you might think, especially in front of a large group of strangers. Plus, a story has a beginning, middle and end and lives are not so cleanly divided; they have multiple beginnings and ends, and the middles are often muddled.

Here’s my story as I remember telling it:

When I was three I saw something so exciting that the memory of it is as fresh and vivid in my mind today as it was 70 years ago. I was sitting on the back stoop of our house in Shawnee Mission, Kansas, watching my mother do laundry, when something on the sidewalk caught my eye. It was long and brown. When I got up to take a closer look it suddenly wriggled into the grass and vanished. I shouted out the only thing I could think of: “Worm – Worm!!” My mother came running. I told her what I had seen and she told me it wasn’t a worm – it was a snake!

By the time I was nine I had decided, in succession, to be a fireman, lion-tamer, or magician. And then I read the book that changed my life – Thrills of a Naturalist’s Quest, by Raymond Lee Ditmars. Ditmars was the curator of reptiles at the Bronx Zoo. In his book he described his amazing adventures catching dangerous snakes in the jungles of Trinidad. Reading it, I learned that some grownups study reptiles and amphibians for a living. They’re called herpetologists. And I learned that you could actively seek out animals in their habitats. You didn’t have to passively wait for a random encounter. I knew then that I was going to be a herpetologist when I grew up!

My obsession with snakes continued through grade school. I caught them in the woods and the abandoned rock quarry near where we lived. All my classmates in grade school knew about my passion for snakes and thought me rather strange because of it. One weekend the phone rang and I answered it. A girl’s voice said: “They’re selling snakes on Nall Avenue.” I could hear other girls sniggering in the background. Knowing that it was prank call, I hung up. But then my obsession overcame logic. “What if,” I thought, “someone was really  selling snakes. If I didn’t check it out I would really regret it.” And I ran out of the house, down the street to Nall Ave. I looked both way on Nall Ave. and didn’t see anything, but, by now, I was captive. I ran three blocks down Nall Ave. before reality grabbed me and I returned home, humiliated.

In high school I was still the only kid who wanted to be a herpetologist (and there were over 2000 students at Shawnee Mission High School). When I told people I planned to be a “herpetologist” I got mystified looks. When I explained what a herpetologist was, the looks changed from mystified to incomprehension or disgust. I quickly learned to avoid the “h” word. “I’m going to be a scientist” seemed to be the best answer, especially for the parents of the girls I occasionally dated.

After high school I enrolled at the University of Kansas and in my sophomore year I got a job as a field assistant for Professor Henry Fitch. Dr. Fitch was a real herpetologist. He studied the ecology of the snakes on the Natural History Reservation outside of town. There he had established a number of trap lines to capture snakes and these had to be checked daily. My job was to accompany him and record the data on each snake that was captured. Dr. Fitch would open the trap, remove the snake, make various measurements and then mark the snake by clipping a unique pattern on the tail scales, if it had not been previously marked. (We marked snakes so they could be identified if caught again. Data on recaptured snakes allowed us to determine their growth rate and also how far they moved.) Snakes do not like having their scales clipped and have to be restrained while you are doing it. You not only have to control the tail to count its scales, you also have to control the head end to keep from being bitten. Easily done when the snake is small.

As Dr. Fitch measured and clipped each snake, I dutifully recorded the data in his field book. This was pretty exciting at first but I soon wanted to handle the snakes myself. I suggested to him that if I could measure and mark the snakes to his satisfaction then I could run the trap lines, freeing him for other work. Dr. Fitch agreed and, as we approached the next trap said, in his mild-mannered way, “Why don’t you start with this one?” The trap held a very large and very irritated Blue Racer. When given the opportunity, most snakes will flee from a human being, but a Racer will often hold its ground and strike aggressively. This one was no exception. On seeing the Racer in the trap I was simultaneously filled with eagerness and hesitation. It was a large Racer, perhaps 3 to 4 feet in length, and I had no wish to be bitten while measuring or marking it, so I asked, “How would you mark this one?” He replied, “Well, with a big snake like this, I usually grip its head between my knees and then stretch it out to count the scales.” Before I could blink he had the head of the Racer gripped between his knees and the body stretched out with the tail scales readily visible. “If you just stretch it out that makes it easy to count the scales”, he said. “Now you try it.” With that he dropped the snake to the ground saying: “Don’t let it get away.” 

I scrambled after the snake and just managed to grab the tail as it was disappearing into the grass. By now the Racer was far beyond angry and determined to get loose, but I managed to get a good grip on its neck as well as the tail, but the body between was thrashing and whipping around and I could feel my grasp on the neck slipping. I certainly didn’t want to lose face with Dr. Fitch and I didn’t want to lose the snake either, so, emulating what I had seen Dr. Fitch do, I released my grip on the head and swung the snake by its tail between my legs and clamped my feet together. But I forgot one crucial thing – I am bow-legged and when my feet are together there is a considerable gap between my knees. I had also miscalculated the length of the snake and about one foot of the head end was behind me. Before I could react the Racer bit me. On the ass. Three times.

(I got such a good response from this last line I decided that it would be anti-climatic to continue and stopped right there. This was my planned final line: “If you don’t think the “h” word is an appropriate career goal for your children, don’t let them read anything by Raymond Lee Ditmars."