Published by

Friends of the National Zoo

National Zoological Park

Washington, D.C. 20009

Phones: _

Executive Director and membership:

232-7700 ,

Education and Volunteer Offices:

232-7703

Guided tours: 232-7703

Train tours: 232-7704

Window Shop: 232-7705

FONZ Board of Directors 1974-75

Arthur Arundel, President

Montgomery S. Bradley, First Vice President

Lavell Merritt, Second Vice President

Stephen Hosmer, 7reasurer

Joan L. Jewett, Secretary

Shirley J. McNair

Ruth N. Nelson

William N. Olinger

John B. Oliver

Peter C. Andrews

Theodore Babbitt

John S. Brown

Timothy V.A. Dillon

Ronald Field Julie Pineau

M. Anthony Gould Nancy Porter

Donna K. Grosvenor Whayne Quin

Nella Manes Lee Talbot

Gerald G. Wagner

Rosa M. Walker

Robert Mason

Cecil McLelland

Executive Director

Sabin Robbins

Editor: Austin Hughes

Photograph on page 20 by Jan Skrentny; all others

by Ray Faass. Drawings on pages 16 and 19 by

Susan Genovesi Hughes; on page 23 by John Petrella.

Production: Monica Johansen

THE ZOOGOER is published bi-monthly

and copyrighted © by Friends of the National

Zoo, c/o National Zoological Park, Washington,

D.C. 20009, second-class mailing permit

approved at Washington, D.C. Rate in the

United States $3 a year (of annual dues).

CONTENTS

The Smell World

: ZooNews

13 Digging In

20 FONZNews

Zoo Staff

Dr. Theodore H. Reed, Director

Mr. Edward Kohn, Deputy Director

Mr. Warren J. Iliff, Assistant Director

Mr. John Perry, Assistant Director

Mr. Jaren Horsley, General Curator

Mr, Harold Egoscue, Curator (Mammals)

Mr. William Xanten, Curator (Mammals)

Mr, Guy Greenwell, Curator (Birds)

Mr. Larry Collins, Associate Curator (Mammals)

Mr. Miles Roberts, Assistant Curator (Mammals)

Mr, Michael Davenport, Assistant Curator

(Reptiles)

Dr. Clinton Gray, Veterinarian

Dr. Mitchell Bush, Veterinarian

Dr. Johs Eisenberg, Resident Scientist

Dr. Helmut Buechner, Senior Ecologist

Dr. Devra Kleiman, Reproductive Zoologist

Mr. Norm Melun, Architect

Mr. Emanuel Petrella, Chief, Buildings & Grounds

For information concerning the collection call

381-7283 or 381-7284.

For general visitor information call 381-7235.

Friends

the .

National

The Friends of the National Zoo is a non-profit

organization of individuals and families who

frequently visit the National Zoo and who are

interested in supporting its growth and develop-

‘ment, particularly in the areas of education,

conservation, and scientific research.

As members of the Friends, you and your family

will be given benefits that will make your zoo-

going more enjoyable and educational.

For more information and a membership appli-

cation, please call 232-7700.

As | come close to the fence of his

enclosure, the male tapir waves his

long nose wildly in an effort to pick

up and identify my scent. His dis-

proportionately tiny eyes seem to

show no response to my presence, and

it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that

any information they are bringing him

_ is nowhere near as important as what

his nose is telling him. The tapir leads

a nose-centered life. His nose and

upper lip are lengthened to form a

_ kind of miniature trunk—not so long

as an elephant’s by any means but still

possessing some prehensile utility. His

eyesight is evidently poor, but his

sense of smell is quite good. The tapir

may be an exceptional case, but his

reaction to my approach provides a

highly visible reminder of something

that is true of most of the mammals |

meet daily at the Zoo. They have a

dimension of awareness | lack. They

are living in a different world.

Bil Gilbert calls it ‘‘the smell world.”

In his field study of the coatimundi

reported in the recent book Chu/o,

Gilbert tells how he was again and

again impressed with the fact that the

animals whose behavior he was

observing were responding to a whole

set of stimuli of which he was and

must always be ignorant. The

coatimundi is a comically long-

snouted relative of the raccoon with

the delightfully nosey scientific name

Nasua narica. Like the tapir’s, his life

may be exceptionally nose-centered,

even for a mammal’s. But compared

to man, almost all other mammals are

nose-oriented animals. There is

probably no other mammal species—

apart from the aquatic ones like

whales and dolphins—that does not

have a far better sense of smell than

we have. And a healthy majority of

mammals depend on their sense of

smell to a greater extent than any

other sense.

In the latter respect, we primates are

the real exceptions. We revolutionized

the ancestral mammalian muzzle and

in the process gave the primacy among

the senses to sight, not smell. As an

adaptation to arboreal life, the

primate eyes enlarged and shifted to a

forward-looking direction. The result

was binocular vision—the ability to

focus on the same visual field with

both eyes at once. This provided the

greatly enhanced depth perception

needed for climbing and jumping

through the trees. But other results

were a flat face and no more room for

the huge olfactory bulbs typical of

mammals.

That there is an olfactory gap between

ourselves and most of our fellow —

mammals is no news, of course,

certainly not to dog-owners. But how

often are even they conscious of what

his very different sensory make-up

means for a dog? Try to imagine what

it would be like to smell as well as a

bloodhound does. It may not be easy,

especially if you are not really sure

how the sense of smell works.

Exactly what is it that the tapir is.

responding to when he directs his

trunk toward me? My scent, my odor,

of course. But what js a scent? Think

about it. It’s no shame to admit

you're not sure. Nobody had any idea

until about fifty years ago. The

present author was reasonably well

educated in a supposedly scientific

The nose of the echidna or spiny anteater sniffs out the species’ insect prey.

One of the best known noses—the elephant’s trunk.

age, and he didn’t know what scents

are until he was over twenty years old.

He learned in high school about sound

waves and light waves and that his

senses of hearing and sight respond to

their presence. But he never learned

anything comparable about his sense

of smell, and he never thought to ask.

The sense of smell, scientists now-

adays tell us, responds to the chemical

composition of the substance smelled.

| am_ blissfully unaware of the

chemical formulas for any of the

numerous substances commingled in

chicken soup or for any of the

numerous substances commingled in

tomato soup. But my nose responds

differently to each different chemical

composition. And, in so responding, it

sends to my brain the different

messages | interpret as “chicken soup”’

and ‘tomato soup.”

And how does my nose become aware

of the chemical composition of a bowl

of soup halfway across the room? It ts

because of certain facts about all

material substances that are grouped

together under the heading “The

Kinetic Theory of Matter.” This

theory asserts that all matter Is

composed of particles called mole- some of the molecules in a bowl of

cules and that these molecules are in soup get to vibrating so furiously that

constant vibration. As it happens, they break the forces holding them to

The nose and mouth of a sloth bear.

the rest of the soup and escape into

the air. Of those that escape into the

air, some find their way into my nasal

passages, where certain cells respond

to their chemical structure. In general,

the rate at which the molecules

vibrate and, consequently, the number

that escape, are higher at a higher

temperature. So it is that | smell soup

as it begins to heat up more readily

and from a greater distance than |

could when it was fresh out of the

can.

But the Kinetic Theory of Matter

implies that the molecules of such

solid, study objects as desks and

linoleum tiles are in vibration too.

They are not moving as fast as the

molecules in a pan of hot soup, and so

fewer of them manage to escape. But

some do. When | walk into my office,

| am not immediately greeted by a

strong odor of desk. The desk-

molecules that happen to be at large

in the room are so few and far

between that my nose is not equipped

to respond to them. But if | am so

minded, | can put my nose close to

the top of my desk, sniff strongly, and

smell a distinctive desk-odor. The

molecules are there. And a mammal of

another species—a raccoon for

example—might very likely be able to

pick up some of them without putting

his nose directly to the desk. He might

be able, as | was not, to smell the desk

as soon as he walked in the door.

Lining a typical mammal’s _ nasal

passages are millions of olfactory cells.

Each of these cells has about eight

hair-like filaments on its free surface.

The filaments are bathed in mucous,

and in this mucous stray molecules

from the atmosphere are trapped. The

surface of the filaments is sensitive to

the chemical structure of trapped

molecules. So numerous are these

filaments in such’ keen-scented

mammals as the raccoon that their

combined surface area exceeds the

entire outside surface area of the

animal’s body.

A mammal that could smell the desk

on walking through my office door

would doubtless at the same time be

able to smell the typewriter, the

typing table, the bookcases, the

books, the paneling, the telephone.

Such olfactory riches would spell

chaos for a man. And imagine how

much more varied are the olfactory

impressions a raccoon receives from

his natural environment. There he is

surrounded by a great profusion of

other plants and animals, each with a

characteristic odor.

For a wild raccoon these many scents

all join together to form a charac-

teristic “‘mix’’ that he recognizes as

the smell of home. Like many other

mammals, he has contributed some-

thing to this mix himself by marking a

few spots in his territory with special

scent glands. And when a hint of

something unfamiliar is added to the

mix, the raccoon is immediately aware

of it. Occasionally he takes time out

from his daily round of activities for a

good deep sniff—an inclusive, medita-

tive sniff—just to make sure the mix is

as it should be. Reassured he perhaps

pauses to savor the homey smell a

moment before continuing on_ his

way.

Myrt Gives Birth

To Her Fifth, Gwen

While each day construction workers

worked noisily all around the

Elephant House a pregnant giraffe

inside approached her term.The calf—

her fifth—was born without difficulty

at two in the afternoon on October

11th.

The newborn giraffe stood about five-

and-a-half feet tall and weighed over

100 pounds. A female, she was named

Gwendolyn in honor of Gwendolyn

Cafritz. The generosity of the Morris

and Gwendolyn Cafritz Foundation

made possible the new FONZ educa-

tional film about the Zoo, and the

naming of the giraffe was an

expression of the Zoo’s gratitude.

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Elephant Yards

Under Construction

In October work began on one of the

most important aspects of the Master

Plan for the renovation of the

National Zoological Park—the re-

modeling of the Elephant House

(naumber’ TI’ on the map). The

Elephant House, built in 1937 in a

grand style seldom seen today, is an

authentic Washington landmark. The

building itself will be preserved, but

the outdoor space for the animals will

be greatly increased.

The current construction will nearly

double the size of the animals’ out-

door yards. The heavy railings that

now separate visitors and animals will

be replaced by moats. Additional

construction in later years will further.

improve the Elephant House. For

instance, the Zoo parking fee is now

being collected to pay for a tiered

underground parking facility. When

this facility is built, the parking area

in front of the Elephant House can be

added to the animal yards. Moreover,

after the new Lion-Tiger complex is

completed and a new administration

and visitor reception building is built

at the Connecticut Avenue entrance

to the Zoo, the giraffes will be moved

from the Elephant House to a new

enclosure of their own, near where the

present Police Station ts located.

The Zoo hopes to be able to keep the

Elephant House open during con-

struction; but occasionally it may be

necessary to close the building for a

day or two.

Zoo Acquires Rare Peacocks

The peacock pheasants of the genus

Polyplectron bring a special glow to

the pheasant-fancier’s eye. ‘Very

beautiful in a subdued way” in the

words of one game-bird authority,

these five species of Southeast Asian

pheasants are prized by collectors.

The National Zoo has recently

acquired a pair of Germaine’s peacock

pheasants (Polyplectron germaini), on

exhibit in the large cage to the right of

the front door of the Bird House

(number 5 on map). This species is

relatively rare in captive collections,

and you may want to make a point of

seeing them on your next visit to the

building.

Wine. Species’ basic color is | an

unexceptional brown, but the feathers

of its shoulders, wings, and tail are

also bejeweled with numerous “‘eyes”’

of a metallic violet-blue. The resem-

blance of these iridescent markings to

those of a peacock’s train is the origin

of the name “‘peacock pheasant.” Like

the peacock’s train, these markings are

displayed by the male in courtship. It

cannot be claimed that a peacock

pheasant’s display is as spectacular as

a peacock’s, but it is interesting to

note that the feathers of the tail,

wings, and shoulders are all involved

in the pheasant’s display. When these

feathers are erected, they form a

dozen concentric rings of ‘‘eyes”’

around the male’s head.

Most of the group of brilliantly

colored birds we know as pheasants

come from temperate climates, if not

downright cold ones. Indeed it is

believed likely that the pheasants asa

group first evolved in the region of the

Himalayas, gradually spreading to

other parts of Asia. (All true

pheasants outside of Asia have been

introduced by man.) The peacock

pheasants are among the few really

tropical pheasants. One reason for

their rarity in private collections its

that they require artificial heat in

winter, and many pheasant fanciers

can only afford to keep the hardier

species.

Germaine’s peacock pheasant was first

in captivity

bred in 1875. Today

nearly all members of this species

found in zoos or private collections

are descendants of many generations

of captive stock. Game-bird fanciers

have performed a valuable service in

breeding this and other rare species,

thus making captive-bred _ birds

available to other collectors and

protecting the wild populations.

One of the pair of newly acquired Germaine’s peacock pheasant.

Our Earth is a pretty good place to

live. Not only is most of its surface

sturdy enough to support a fish out of

water with fins hastily converted into

limbs (which is all we higher verte-

brates really are); but also, in the

absence of any better place to live you

can dig beneath it and have yourself a

home. Man has only occasionally

resorted to subterranean housing. The

early Pueblo Indians of the Southwest

lived in pit-houses roofed over with

brush and earth, and _ occasionally

other peoples inhabiting very open

country have resorted to similar

housing. Some of our fellow verte-

brates, on the other hand, have found

life beneath the surface of the earth so

cozy they almost never come above

ground.

Take the mole, for example. Though

we may not like what he can do to

our lawns and golf-greens, if we are

fair we will have to admit a grudging

admiration for anything four-footed,

warm-blooded, and furred that can get

from one place to another under the

ground rather than on top of it. Moles

have been moles for 40 million years.

Once they evolved the streamlined

shape and powerful forepaws that

enable them to tunnel through the

soil, they had achieved their kind of

perfection and had no need to change.

Indeed, as long as there are plenty of

earthworms to eat and patches of soil

left that we haven’t paved over, moles

are likely to keep on being moles

indefinitely.

Such a complete adaptation to life

below ground as the mole’s is rare

among mammals. Far more common

are species that retire below ground to

sleep and in times of danger but must

go above ground to do most of their

food-gathering. Among our local

mammals the woodchuck is a familiar

example. Like the woodchuck, most

burrow-dwelling mammals are vege-

tarians. Most, in fact, are—again like

the woodchuck—members of the

order of gnawing vegetarians known as

the rodents. But there are some

predators among _ burrow-dwelling

mammals—most notably the six

species of badger. Not only does the

badger live in a hole of his own, but

he uses his digging ability to invade

the burrows of his prey. His long thin

snout explores the burrow opening to

make sure that it is occupied, while

his powerful claws tear apart its walls.

All of these burrow-dwelling species—

along with the mole, the earthworm

itself, and indeed any form of animal

life high or low that habitually

ventures beneath the substrate—are

known. collectively as_ fossorial

animals. It’s a useful umbrella-term

since many fossorial animals, though

unrelated, have in common certain

adaptations for fossorial life.

If we dig a mole from his burrow and

place him on the surface of the earth,

his first impulse is to get back below

ground. He goes about accomplishing

his desire with such energy that in soft

soil it takes him six seconds to

disappear from sight. A mole Is an

incredible digging machine, with

unusually short forelimbs to which are

attached grotesquely large hands. The

wristbone is extended to form a sort

of “sixth finger’? and thus further

increase the breadth of the hand. The

wristbone is curved, rather like the

edge of a shovel. |

When a mole digs in from the surface

The European badger is a burrower in his own right and a predator on other burrowers. His very thin

head can investigate a rodent’s opening, while his powerful forepaws tear away at the sides.

he uses a kind of “breast-stroke”’

motion. He places his broad hands

together, then thrusts them apart and

back, tearing a hole in the soil. The

muscles of his chest and shoulder are

sO powerful that at one stroke a mole

can move earth weighing as much as

32 times his own body weight. A mole

may also use the “breast-stroke” to

tunnel in a_ horizontal direction

through soft soil. In harder soil, he

braces himself against the floor of his

tunnel with one forepaw. The animal

kingdom is full of marvelous little

coincidences. There is a cricket, for

instance, that burrows with the same

type of breast-stroke motion as the

mole. And the cricket’s front pair of

legs are broadened, just as the mole’s

forepaws are.

Returning to mammals, some other

fossorial species have evolved quite

different methods of digging. Mention

should be made of the gopher—a

mammal that digs with its teeth. The

gopher’s upper incisors are large—even

in comparison with those of other

rodents; and the gopher can close his

lips tight behind his big ‘buck teeth”

so that dirt does not enter his mouth

while he is digging.

But to see the way most mammals dig,

watch a dog burying a bone. The dog

holds his forepaws close together and

scratches the soil with one forepaw

and then the other—and so on, in

rapid alternation. The dog is no great

shakes as a digger, but a great many

truly fossorial species use improved

versions of the same method—scratch-

digging, as it is called. Woodchuck,

badger, prairie dog, armadillo, and

wombat are but a few examples of

scratch-diggers.

These include some of the best diggers

of the animal world, performers of

truly herculean feats of excavation. A

single wombat (which looks rather

like a gigantic woodchuck but Its

actually an Australian marsupial) can

dig a tunnel nearly one hundred feet

in length. The tunnel is wide enough

for a good-sized dog to walk down it

with ease. It would be unwise,

however, to encourage a dog to do so;

a sixty-pound male wombat defending

his home can be a fearsome adversary

even for a dog. Sometimes the

burrows of individual wombats are

interconnected to form a vast burrow

system—a kind of subterranean city—

though it is thought unlikely that the

inhabitants have much of a social life.

One burrow system that was dug up

by naturalists measured half a mile in

length and 60 yards in breadth. If that

seems big enough, reflect that five

million years ago there were wombats

in Australia the size of hippo-

potamuses. Apparently paleon-

tologists have not yet determined

whether or not these extinct giant

wombats burrowed; but, if they did,

what they would have produced could

The mole cricket is a burrowing cricket, whose pair of legs have come to resemble a mole’s forepaws.

The wombat is a champion burrower. A single individual can dig a burrow 30 yards long.

have rivalled Metro.

On a smaller scale, but no less amazing

for that, are the prairie dogs. It was

with good reason that the pioneers

called aggregations of prairie dog

burrows “towns.” There was one

town that measured 100 by 240 miles

in 1901. It was estimated to contain

400 million prairie dogs. Unfortu-

nately, farmers and _ ranchers’ had

already declared war on the prairie

dog; and today, such vast metropoles

no longer occur.

Scratch-diggers like the wombat and

the prairie dog have improved in

numerous other subtle ways on the

basic pattern found in the dog. Their

claws are longer and stronger. Each

forepaw can curl back around a chunk

of dirt to lift it up and scoot it

backwards. In this respect, the

forepaw acts like the ‘‘claw’”’ attach-

ment of our man-made cranes used to

break off and dispose of chunks of

soil. Actually watching men dig with a

crane should give us something of an

idea of the kind of mechanical

processes that are at work when, say,

an armadillo is burrowing. Imagine

that the cables of the crane are

muscles and that the beams they move

are bones. It’s only a rough approxi-

mation. After all, the armadillo is a

good bit more complicated and,

mechanically speaking, a good bit

more efficient. He is also, of course,

much faster.

Things can get pretty complicated

rather quickly when we start trying to

analyze even the simplest movement

of any mammal from a mechanical

point of view. There are so many

different forces acting at once. But

one general truth is worth noting: our

limbs in most of their activities

function as systems of multiple levers.

The levers are the bones, and the

muscles serve to pivot them around

their joints with each other.

Let’s consider just one of these

levers—a lever involving the bone

known as the “funnybone’”’ in man.

The funnybone—or olecranon, as

scientists call it—is actually an

extension past the elbow joint of one

of the bones of the forearm. This is

the thicker of the two forearm bones,

and it is known as the ulna. In man

and in other mammals, a muscle called

the triceps attaches to the olecranon.

The triceps covers the back of the

upper arm, as the more familiar biceps

covers much of the front of the upper

arm.

The biceps bends or “‘flexes’’ the arm

by tugging on the forearm and pulling

it toward the upper arm. The triceps

has the opposite task, straightening

out the arm by tugging on the

olecranon. In each of these motions,

there are other muscles at work but

for our purposes we need only

consider the biceps and the triceps.

You can easily verify what these two

muscles do by touching each in turn

as you flex and extend an arm.

Straightening out the arm is not a vital

activity for man; gravity almost does

it for us. But the very same muscular

action is one of the most important

components of scratch-digging.

Consequently, scratch-diggers tend to

have immense triceps muscles and

very long “funybones’’ for them to

attach to. In man and in the dog for

that matter, the olecranon is a simple

projection, just big enough for the

muscle to fit on. In an armadillo, the

olecranon ts fully two-thirds as long as

the rest of the ulna. It doesn’t take an

engineer to appreciate that the arma-

dillo’s forearm makes much the better

lever.

It may come as a surprise that there

are burrow-dwelling birds. Most of

these live in abandoned burrows that

were originally built by other animals.

The burrowing owl of the Western

States, for instance, simply expro-

priates an empty burrow in a prairie

dog town. There are a number of

species of birds, however, that nest in

long horizontal tunnels in steep earth

banks, and these frequently dig the

tunnels themselves.

An example is the belted kingfisher of

eastern North America. A kingfisher

pair searching for a nest-site locates a

steep earth bank near water. Next the

members of the pair pick out a single

spot on the bank and begin to fly up

against it again and again, hitting the

same spot each time with their long

strong bills. After about a day of this,

they have made a hole large enough to

perch in. Then, in subsequent days,

the birds slowly tunnel back from this

Drawing of the bones of the front leg of a dog (right) and an armadillo (left). The bone-structure shows

the armadillo’s adaptedness for burrowing.

hole. They use their bills to break the

soil loose and the soles of their feet to

scoop dirt out of the tunnel.

Among reptiles, burrowing is more

widespread. There are fossorial snakes

and lizards, and some tortoises dig

very deep burrows. One of the most

interesting is the Florida gopher

tortoise, whose burrow is a foot wide

and 10 to 35 feet long. The gopher

tortoise’s burrow serves as home not

only for its builder but for a whole

fauna of freeloaders. There is a frog

known as the gopher frog and a snake

known as the gopher snake, both of

which have derived their common

names from their habit of moving in

with a tortoise.

Indeed it is the arthropods—the

Insects, spiders, and their kin—that

make up the greatest bulk of all

animals that have taken up life in the

soil. Their numbers are simply

Staggering. Scientists have estimated

that a typical acre of pastureland

contains well over a billion

subterranean arthropods. Living on

the surface of the earth, we are

walking on the rooftops of a whole

other world.

FONZ Launches "ZOO"

by Mike Morgan

Interpretive Assistant

National Zoological Park

Cramped into a cherry-picker basket

40 feet in the air, the cameraman

waited quietly to film a remarkable

scene: the brilliant rays of a rising

sun glinting off the reddish fur of a

lesser panda asleep in its tree. Then,

just as the dawn’s light struck the

treetop, the panda climbed down

the tree and disappeared. The camera-

man and our six man crew below

would have to try again another day.

There are always frustrations—and

surprises—when you want to make a

fine film about animals. They seldom

follow the script. We found for in-

stance, that it takes cunning,

persistence, and luck to outsmart a

sleeping bear. We wanted footage of

bears waking up—scratching and

stretching in their amusing, almost-

human way. It took three days and

thousands of quiet footsteps before

we succeeded in getting the cameras

ready before the bears woke up.

The 16 mm film, with sound and color,

Scott Gibson (left) and Mike Switzer taking early morning shots of the waterfowl ponds.

is now completed and has already won

an award at the 1974 New York

International Film and Television

Festival. Entitled Zoo, it attempts to

describe a day in the life of a typical

zoo. Its primary use will be in school

systems as a FONZ educational ser-

vice. Funds to produce the film came

from the Friends’ revenue-producing

operations and from the Morris and

Gwendolyn Cafritz Foundation.

The movie uses color and close-ups to

great effect. Director Richard Eben

and cameramen Mike Switzer,

Murdoch Campbell, and Scott Gibson

spent days surveying the Zoo in search

of the best filming conditions. Par-

ticularly stunning are the shots of the

day gecko, in which this tiny lizard

fills the screen with its brilliant green

and red.

Written and produced by Jan

Skrentny, the film highlights each of

the varied operations that combine to

make up the life of a modern zoo.

Commissary workers are shown pre-

paring animal feed, and veterinarians

are shown examining and treating a

zebra with an injured leg. A nicely

arranged sequence shows the Pathol-

ogy Unit autopsying a dead gecko and

deciding that it died of calcium defi-

ciency; next, is shown how their

keeper rectifies the deficiency by

supplementing the surviving geckos’

diet.

As an interpretive assistant with the

Zoo, | was assigned to work with the

film-crew daily for two months and a

total of four-and-a-half miles of film.

The end result is, | believe, not only a

beautiful film but also an eloquent

statement of what and why zoos are.

Elephants Star

At Annual Meeting

The Friends’ “‘wildest” annual

meeting on the evening of October

30, 1974 turned out to be the largest

and most entertaining.

More than 400 members and friends

jammed into the Elephant House to

see a premiere of the new FONZ

film, ‘‘Zoo,’’ watch an exciting ele-

phant management demonstration by

Trainer-Keeper Al Perry, and elect

new FONZ officers and directors.

Many came before the formal

meeting to enjoy a sneak preview of

the new exhibit in the Panda House.

Back-lighted color transparencies of

the pandas in action, a diorama of

their bamboo forest “home” in China,

drawings, maps and informational

copy, even tapes of pandas “‘talking”’

have been combined to tell the panda

story. Not to be outdone by the new

exhibit, Hsing-Hsing and Ling-Ling

staged their own show for the Friends.

They somersaulted, did handstands,

and munched down stalks of fresh

bamboo to everybody’s delight.

Calling the meeting to order at 8 p.m.

in the Elephant House, President

Arthur W. Arundel welcomed the

record crowd. It was avery good

year for the Friends, reported Arundel,

noting successes of on-going as well

as new education and member pro-

grams. The President’s Report

as well as the Financial Report by

Treasurer Dr. Stephen Hosmer will be

covered in full in the end-of-the-year

issue of ZooGoer.

After approving changes in the By-

Laws, members elected the '74-'75

slate of Officers and Directors. They

were President Arthur W. Arundel,

First Vice-President Montgomery S.

Bradley, Second Vice-President

Lavell Merritt, Treasurer Dr. Stephen

Hosmer, and Secretary Joan Jewett.

New Directors elected for a three-

year term were M. Anthony Gould,

Cecil McLelland, Nella Manes, Julie

Pineau, and Dr. Lee Talbot.

Before showing the new “Zoo”’ movie,

Donna Grosvenor, Chairperson of the

Education Committee, revealed that it

had already won a bronze medal at the

New York International Film and

Television Festival.

After the movie, members gathered

in front of the Indian elephants to

watch Al Perry put Shanti and

Ambika thru their paces. Demon-

strating a complex series of training

maneuvers necessary in handling and

moving captive elephants, Al Perry

couldn’t resist a “show biz’’ finale.

Holding harmonicas high in their

trunks the elephants lost no time in

tooting out a few bars of music. It

seemed like the perfect note to end

an unusual evening.

‘‘! sure wish all annual meetings were

as much fun as this,’ exclaimed one

member as he hoisted a wide-eyed

young son to his shoulders and

headed home.

Christmas Shopping

Is Fun at the Zoo

There’s an easy, fun, and inexpensive

solution for your Christmas giving

this year: visit the Zoo WindowShop.

Right now, the gift shop is filled with

many new and unusual items found

nowhere else. Best of all, members

receive a 10 percent discount on all

purchases of $1 or more.

No shop in the world carries more

pandabilia. There are handsome

panda coffee mugs ($1.25); panda

piggy banks ($1.50); panda neck-

laces ($2.50); neckties ($7); scarves

($7); earrings ($2.50); silver charms

($4.25); ballpoint pens ($1.25);

shopping bags ($0.50); T-shirts ($2.00-

$2.70); posters ($2.00); and puppets

($2.00-$4.00).

Made in the People’s Republic of

China for the Friends are charming

hand-crocheted pandas for only $2.

Ideal for Christmas tree ornaments or

stocking stuffers, the two-inch high

figures come in six panda poses—sit-

ting, rolling, holding and eating bam-

boo, munching carrots, and grasping

a play ball.

Panda items are only a small part of

the animal-themed gifts. There are

ceramic animal tiles, hand-blown

crystal animals, animal jewelry, and

a limited number of unpainted,

wooden animal pull toys at just

$3.25. A variety of animal books

are stocked for all ages.

Collectors of outstanding wildlife art

will be interested in a color print of a

passenger pigeon in flight by the ac-

claimed artist John Ruthvin. One of

only 500 prints numbered and signed

by the artist the 22”’ by 24” print

was Created to raise funds for the

Passenger Pigeon Memoria! Fund