“Ralph, this is J.B. Listen, I know we just wrapped the last show of the season, but I wanted to tell you what was coming up in a few months.”
“Yeah.”
“At the start of next season’s series we’ll need an elephant.”
He said it as though an elephant was an item Ralph carried around in his back pocket. “You have one, haven’t you?” he asked, following a slight hesitation on Ralph’s part. “Haven’t you?” J.B. asked again.
“Sure, of course,” Ralph said, with his fingers crossed. “I was just writing it down. When do you need it?”
“About September. Three months should give you enough time to teach it its act.”
“Act?” he asked.
“Yeah, you know—sitting up, bowing, hopping, all that kind of stuff.”
“Uh…sure, no problem,” Ralph said. “Just send me the script so we can get started practicing.”
Ralph hung up, after assuring J.B. that he would have the best elephant act this side of the Ringling Brothers.
“Who was that?” asked Toni, Ralph’s wife.
“Studio,” he said.
“Oh. What did they want?”
“An elephant.”
“Hmm. Where are you going to get one?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Did you tell them you had one?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you do that?”
“’Cause I was afraid of losing the contract.”
“Well,” she said facetiously, “you can always hang a rubber hose from the milk cow’s head. That should do it.”
“Funny, Toni! Very funny.”
For the next five days, Ralph and his associates called everybody they knew to see if anyone had heard of an elephant for sale. A few turned up, priced at around $10,000 each—way over their budget. Plus, one of them was a “batter”—that is, an elephant that throws its trunk with the intent to do bodily harm. They even had a couple of offers from zoos, but none of their elephants was tame, let alone trained.
By the end of the week, things were looking pretty grim. Ralph knew his competition had an elephant, and that if they got wind of the job they could take over the series.
“Even if we did find one,” said Toni, “for—how much did you say?”
“A thousand dollars,” Ralph replied.
“A thousand dollars,” she continued, “what would you haul it in?”
“I don’t know. Maybe its owner would bring it.”
They had exhausted just about every means of finding an elephant when a friend showed him a newspaper ad. It read: “For sale: Old female circus elephant with bad eye, to professional people only. Cheap.” It gave a phone number for somewhere back East—, they weren’t sure where. Ralph called.
“Hello?” a rather burly-sounding voice bellowed in his ear.
Ralph could hear kids screaming in the background. “I read your ad in the Sunday paper about an elephant for sale. Is she still available?”
“Yeah, we got her. She ain’t much to look at, and she needs some meat an’ potatoes, if you know what I mean,” he belched out.
“How much do you want for her?”
“A thousand dollars, mister—that’s it. She’s a steal. Not many around at that price.”
“What’s wrong with her? I mean, any defects, bad habits?” Ralph figured that for that price there had to be something wrong.
“Look—take her or leave her. If you want her, fine. If not, well, we’ll just cook her up and feed her to the dogs. Ha!”
There had been a beat before his answer that told Ralph to believe nothing. He could just visualize this guy—baldheaded, overweight, shirtless, and unshaven.
“Look, I gotta go,” he said.
“Okay,” Ralph replied, “I’ll take her.”
“You will?” came his surprised answer.
“Yeah. But we’re coming all the way from California. It’ll take about a week to get there. Will you hold her for us?”
“If I don’t get too tired, holding all that weight! Ha!”
What a jerk, Ralph thought.
“Send me a few bucks so I know you’re for real, and you’ve got yourself an elephant,” he said.
They exchanged telephone numbers and addresses. As Ralph was hanging up, he asked, “Oh, by the way, what’s her name?”
“Modoc—at least that’s the name she came with. But the locals here call her One-Eye Mo.”
Ralph picked up a used van trailer for about $500. The sides were rusted and two of the tires were bald, but with some oil, a lube job, and new tires, she looked pretty roadworthy. As for the truck, an old Chevy Bobtail had been impounded for nonpayment and was being auctioned off at the police garage—and they hit it lucky.
Everybody they knew pitched in to fix up the trailer. They laid in a new, two-inch plywood floor to support Modoc’s weight. Holes were drilled in the plywood, and heavy leg chains were run through. Lightweight panel boards were installed around the inside to prevent any “nosing” around with the electric cables running through the trailer to the sidelights and the back brakelights.
All the while, everyone was telling them they were crazy to embark on such a risky venture—after all, they were spending all the money, money that was badly needed for the ranch facilities for cage repairs, old bills, and the like. True, the deal did sound pretty scary. Ralph had never heard of an elephant selling for $1,000! Either she was on her last legs, or she was a killer rejected by the circus…or both. And if the elephant didn’t work out, what use would they have for the truck and the trailer? But if they were lucky enough to be able to use her even a little bit, she would earn enough money to help the company.
Frank, the ranch foreman, and Ralph took off early one morning, heading for the small town in the Ozarks where Modoc was then residing. Neither one had ever driven a twenty-two-wheel truck and trailer before, but after a thousand miles or so each, they’d stopped grinding gears. Except for an occasional flat tire on the “new” retreads, the four-day trip went smoothly.
Seeing the country from high up in the cab was a new experience. The size and weight of the rig gave them a feeling of power and great energy as they sped across the deserts of Arizona and lugged up the Rocky Mountains. Texas seemed to take forever, but the Plains states flew by—and from Chicago on, they were on the edge of their seats, anticipating their arrival.
Ralph had never owned an elephant before, but he was experienced in handling them for others. Always one of his favorites in the world of animals, elephants never failed to leave him in awe. He found them to be both extremely intelligent and very sensitive.
They had climbed high into the Ozark mountains. Pulling off the main highway, they entered a small community. After some searching, they finally managed to find the old, dilapidated, one-story house. A broken porch and a yard full of tin cans and old tires gave it a look of depression.
They knocked on the door. It seemed that nobody was home, but the door was cracked open a bit. Ralph could see the inside of the house was in about the same condition as the outside.
“Hello! Anybody here?”
No answer. Walking around the side of the house and across the yard, Frank and Ralph noticed a couple of boys pitching rocks at what appeared to be a large tree. They were heading toward the boys when the voice Ralph had heard on the telephone boomed out: “Hey, you! You’re on private property!”
There was the man, almost identical to how Ralph had visualized him—fat, balding, and gruff.
“We’re the people who called you from California—came to get Modoc,” Ralph said.
“Well, you really did come, after all,” he said, ambling over to them. “Thought you might forfeit the money.” He wiped his dirty hands on his dirty trousers.
“I’m Ralph, and this is Frank.”
“Bo Jenkins.”
They shook hands all around. Ralph could smell that familiar circus odor drifting through the air, but couldn’t figure out where it w
as coming from. Then he heard a squeal that sounded as though it had come from a hurt animal.
“I got ’er!” yelled one of the kids.
“You kids go on home now.”
“I got ’er, Mr. Jenkins! Square in the leg! Here’s your money.” Ralph watched as the kids gave Jenkins a couple of coins. “I don’t have to pay for the second one, right?”
“Yeah, sure, kid. Go on, now—beat it!” he said. An embarrassed smirk crossed his reddening face. He quickly changed the subject. “Come on, I’ll show you Mo.”
They walked over to a four-foot-high barbed-wire fence encircling a lot of roughly two acres. It was barren except for a few shrubs, dozens of beer cans, and soda-pop bottles, and an unusually large number of stones at the far end of the field. There a large dead oak tree straddled the fence. Tied to the base of the tree was a heavy tow chain. It stretched out about fifteen feet and was shackled to the foot of an enormous elephant.
This was Modoc. She was the tallest Indian elephant Ralph had ever seen. She looked to be around thirty to forty years old. A bent tin sign hung on a pole just out of her reach. It read: ONE-EYE MO—KILLER ELEPHANT. KEEP YOUR DISTANCE! The sign was full of rock holes and dents.
Ralph felt his face flush with anger. “What do you do? Have the local kids pay you so they can throw rocks at the elephant?”
“Naw! Well, just a few. It helps pay the food bill.”
“By the looks of this elephant, she hadn’t seen a proper meal or even eaten in a long, long time.”
“Look here, mister,” demanded Jenkins, “you either take her or forfeit your deposit. I just don’t care one way or the other.”
Frank was fuming. “Good Lord, Ralph, we can’t show her on camera! The Humane Society people would hang us!”
“I know,” Ralph said, “but we can’t leave her here in this condition.” He turned to Jenkins. “What does that sign mean, ‘Killer’? Is she dangerous?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I was told she is, but I never gave her a chance to show me.”
“You mean you never approach her? Clean or scrub or treat her for worms?”
“Her? No way! Hell, no! What do you think I am, crazy? You want to get me killed?”
Frank and Ralph were both ready to deck him. “How long have you had her?” Ralph asked.
“Couple of years.”
“Couple of years! You mean she’s been here like this for a couple of years?” He must have had a look of murder on his face, because Jenkins started to back away.
“Look, if you want her, fine, I’ll be in the house. If not—see ya.” He turned and headed toward the house at a rather fast pace.
Frank and Ralph took a deep breath and, holding the barbed wire for each other, climbed through the fence and headed for Mo. As they approached, they saw she was resting her head against the old tree. She had apparently being doing this for some time, since a large worn spot grazed the tree at the same height as her head. She slowly turned toward them, her great ragged ears slowly angling forward, capturing every sound they made.
As they got closer, they could see just how abused she was. She was about a thousand pounds underweight. Her huge backbone arched high in the air, and her skin was stretched taut across a skeletal rib cage, only to hang loosely in huge globs at the bottom of her stomach. She appeared to be blind in her left eye.
It was then that Ralph saw it—from afar, one would never notice, since it was on the far side of the tree—the end of the heavy low chain disappeared into her ankle. The chain had been there so long without being removed that the outer skin had actually grown over it. It left the leg looking as though it had an overlarge ankle.
“My God! Frank! That bastard! That dirty bastard!” He turned, heading back toward the house.
Frank stopped him. “Time for that later,” he said.
They stood there, amazed at the total emaciation of the poor old girl. There were bruises and cuts by the dozens, obviously made by the stone throwing. Old, healed gouges showed where large rocks had taken their toll. The hair was missing from Mo’s tail, and Ralph recalled having seen an elephant-hair bracelet on Jenkins’s wrist. He wondered to himself how he had managed that!
Ralph called to her, “Hi, Mo…Hi, old girl…” She raised her great head high in the air, and for a moment she was silent. Then she made a whoosh sound with her trunk and stepped forward toward them. They could hear a distinct grumbling deep down in her stomach. She seemed to beg for them to come to her. Ralph could see her bad eye. It wasn’t so bad to look at, actually; there was just a white cast where the pupil should have been.
Modoc started to come to life. She was swaying and anxious.
“What do we do, Ralph?” Frank asked. “She hasn’t been off those chains in years!”
“Let’s take it easy and be careful. Keep your bull hook close.”
They approached Mo straight on, talking gently. She was straining against her chain so hard that it was ripping out of her flesh. The open cracks oozed with blood and pus. Sometimes in their business, decisions must be made that could mean life or death, decisions based on an ability to read an animal—in this case, a nine-foot-tall, maybe four-ton elephant with the potential to kill in an instant. Ralph’s natural instincts were at work. He felt these were not the actions of a dangerous animal, but rather of one who was affectionate and starved, an elephant that craved the touch of human hands.
With outstretched hands he walked toward Mo. She leaned forward, stretching out her trunk. He reached over and gently touched its tip. It seemed that to her this was like receiving an electric shock, or, more accurately, a jolt of pure energy. At what Ralph believed must have been her first human touch in many, many years, she started to trumpet. Tail held high, head up, ears forward, she pranced around. Both men were thrilled. What ecstasy!
Ralph moved in close. Mo gently laid her trunk over his shoulder, ran it down the full length of his body, and encircled the tip around his toe. Then she started to shake. Her belly rumbled. As a naturalist, he knew this was her way of greeting him. Yet, as an animal lover, he also knew this was the sobbing of joy, expressing years of pent-up pain and hunger and the deprivation of solitary confinement. Animals, like people, experience loneliness, boredom, and despondency when the comfort of a friendly voice, a familiar smell, or a gentle touch no longer brightens their day.
Frank went around by the tree and started to work on the chain. It took many trips to the truck for equipment to finally cut it away. They left a small extension of it leading to her ankle, as they knew a veterinarian would need to be there when they took it off. They cut a hole in the fence, and slowly, for the first time in many years, Mo walked—quivering, and dragging her stiff, chained leg across her prison yard—to freedom.
When she saw the truck, she bellowed, as though it should answer back. Perhaps it reminded her of one of the circus vehicles of years past. Many people had gathered when they heard the bellowing. Adults hugged their children tightly as “Killer Mo” limped by. She walked up the ramp and into the truck. Frank had laid a nice carpet of straw for her to rest in and provided an ample pile of fresh alfalfa for her to eat. They put the end of a garden hose in her mouth and turned it on, and for five minutes she filled herself with gallons of fresh water.
Frank went to the house, paid the balance, and got a bill of sale. Ralph knew that if he had gone, he would probably have punched Jenkins’s lights out.
They didn’t want Mo to back out the rear door while they were on the road or do any structural damage inside the trailer, so they tied one of her legs, for safety reasons. Patting the old girl’s derriere, they closed the ten-foot door, revved up the engine, and slowly drove down the driveway. They had themselves an elephant!
The states passed quickly, as did the days and nights. They stopped every few hours to check and see that Mo was riding comfortably and that her leg chain was secure. They kept the floor covered with fresh straw, and fed Mo about a fourth of an elephant’s normal daily in
take (concerned that a normal-sized diet might be too rich), placing twenty to thirty pounds of alfalfa well within reach of her trunk. Four times a day, she was given her five gallons of a special mix of grains. Powdered penicillin from the first aid kit was sprinkled in the leg wound morning, afternoon, and night, and the wound was kept as clean and sterile as possible to prevent infection.
The gas stations along the way were very helpful when they asked for a drink of water for the elephant. Modoc would pick up the hose with her trunk and place it in her mouth. When Ralph saw her control the flow of water by stepping on the hose, he began to suspect that this lady had a history. On hot days she would suck water up in her trunk and spray her back to stay cool.
Other times, they would take her out for walks to keep her from getting stiff from standing in one place for too long, and to get good circulation going in her injured leg. During one of these walks, they caused a major jam-up on the highway—everybody wanted to see the elephant. Some cars even pulled off to the side so the children could see Mo up close.
In Texas, the temperature was approaching 101 degrees. When they asked a gas station owner who had some property behind his station if they could use it to bathe the elephant, he happily agreed. They bought some laundry soap and a scrub brush from a local grocery store and set to work. They scrubbed and scrubbed, pouring the soap and water over Mo until she looked like one giant bubble. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy the scrubbing and occasionally she’d raise a foot and let out a squeaky sound when they found a ticklish spot on her ribs, just behind her left front leg. It must have been her first bath in years.
It took a while to get through the crust and the scabs, but finally they laid her down and washed one side of her thoroughly. Her skin appeared a sleek, gray color. Her cheekbones and the bottoms of her ears had a pinkish cast, confirming Ralph’s previous estimate of her age. He carefully flushed out her eyes, paying particular attention to the left one.
The sun dried her quickly, and her spirits seemed to lift. Tipping the gasoline attendant a ten, they walked Mo back to the truck. For all her previous wear and tear, she looked immaculate.