Oliver and Friends

It's mid-morning, a perfect spring day in the Texas Hill Country. Wallace Swett rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand as we walk along the limestone gravel path. He didn't sleep well the night before, he says. He has a lot on his mind. I'm listening, taking notes, but I'm a little distracted, looking out the corner of my eye as we pass an ocelot, an enclosure of lively monkeys, a sleeping brown bear. A peacock haughtily crosses in front of us. A goose defiantly strides behind him, then gives chase, latching mercilessly onto a beakful of iridescent tail feathers. This is no ordinary ten-acre patch of oak trees and wildflowers.

I keep listening and writing as Swett talks. But I'm still preoccupied. I'm wondering where Oliver lives, the chimpanzee that prompted this trip to begin with.

Swett, his wiry frame still muscular in middle age, is a founding member and president of Primarily Primates, the oldest and most reputable private, nonprofit animal sanctuary in the country. The Boston native and former zookeeper came to Texas in 1978 seeking a warm climate where he could keep three squirrel monkeys he rescued from death row "for the crime of growing up." "Wild animals don't make good pets," he says, as if for the thousandth time. The squirrel monkeys had been purchased as babies to be household pets. But they got bigger. They got smelly. They couldn't be housebroken, and they bit their owners. "There's no place for animals like that to go," Swett explains. "The zoos don't want them because they've been human imprinted. They're not endangered species, so there's no protection there."

Twenty-one years ago, Swett never imagined that taking in a few discarded monkeys would eventually lead to his being responsible for the care of nearly 500 primates, 300 birds and an assortment of other cast-off wildlife. "It's been an adventure," he deadpans with deliberate understatement.

Providing safe haven and rehabilitation for animals that have been tortured, starved, confined and neglected, used in debilitating experiments or paraded as freaks is a monumental undertaking. Sleepless nights are part of the territory. "It's not just a sanctuary," Swett says, "it's a business." Love of nature only goes so far in keeping Primarily Primates functioning. There's the bureaucratic side: obtaining necessary permits to transport and keep the animals. There are health issues: sick animals, quarantine requirements, inspections. And, always, there's the money. The animals don't arrive with a bank account. They need a place to live and thrive. They need food. They need veterinary care. Even so, it's almost become the rule rather than the exception that Swett will accept abandoned circus animals, sick laboratory specimens or wounded wildlife not knowing where the funds for their care will come from. He's learned to ignore the word "impossible."

We meander past lush, blooming rose bushes and carefully tended flower gardens. This lovely landscape would pass for a typical suburban estate were it not for the 30- and 40-foot tall cage-like structures that tower over us. These are the living quarters for macaques, cotton-top tamarins, gibbons and more than 64 other species and subspecies of primates. I know Oliver is somewhere around here.

Swett knows each animal by name. Moe and Annie, Carmen and Tyrone, Hope and Sherry. He knows each one's history. A little gibbon without a foot, another without a hand. Monkeys without tails who wouldn't survive in the wild where their tails are essential to mobility. Monkeys will self-mutilate or mutilate their young, Swett explains, from the continuous stress of confinement in a small, crowded space. This kind of behavior disappears after a few months at Primarily Primates.

Swett knows that stories about Oliver have brought me here. He graciously accommodates my curiosity. We finally arrive at a huge enclosure where six adult chimps observe our approach. Three of them excitedly hoot and holler, race around and swing from the overhead bars. One of them sits like a Buddha, following us with his pale eyes but remaining quiet and still. This is Oliver, the celebrity chimpanzee who walked upright, who set off wild speculation and ethical debates. The one who got his photo on the front of check-out lane tabloids. "Missing Link." "Big Foot Discovered." "Bourbon-Sipping Chimp Helps With Chores." He grabbed the attention of sensation seekers and scientists alike, all wondering if he was more than chimp, less than human. (Chromosome tests later confirmed that Oliver is 100 percent chimpanzee, although one with distinct differences.)

Oliver contorts his rubbery mouth while staring straight at us. He raises and lowers his thick eyebrows. He is distinctly different looking. Not as much hair on his head as the others. He is altogether smaller. His ears are set higher than normal. His eyes are light in color, not the usual, darker yellowy-brown. I can't help myself. I say, "Hello, Oliver." His eyes meet mine. There is something there, something that reminds me of the kindly acknowledgement I've gotten when I wave to an old man sitting alone on his front porch.

Oliver came to Primarily Primates in 1995 as one of 12 chimps donated by the Buckshire Corporation, a Pennsylvania-based research facility. He was captured as a baby in the Congo in the early 1970s and purchased by animal trainers in the U.S. whose dog, pony, chimp and pig acts were regularly featured on the Ed Sullivan Show. Oliver didn't make the cut, though. He was shunned by the other chimps because he looked, smelled and acted differently. Most unusual of all, he walked standing straight up. Useless as a performer, the trainers "adopted" him as part of the family. He readily took to the lifestyle. He began helping clean the animal stalls, using a pitchfork to load hay into a wheelbarrow. In the evenings, he relaxed in his easy chair with a mixed drink. In the mornings, he enjoyed a cup of coffee. He fed the dogs.

Everything was okay until Oliver started maturing. Then it became apparent that his good manners would extend only so far. He was looking for a mate, but didn't have any interest in female chimpanzees. He was more interested in the female animal trainer. Thus began Oliver's odyssey from one owner to another, from stints as a carnival freak and zoo curiosity, to seven years of confinement in a 5x7x5 lab cage.

Oliver's next-door neighbors are a group of chimps from New York University. Again, we get the whooping and hollering greeting. The chimps crowd around the side of the enclosure nearest us, wrapping their hands around the bars and poking their noses through the openings. They chatter excitedly. Hope, a little two-year-old, reaches through the bars and I let her curl her fingers around mine. They are baby soft and gentle. Another baby chimp, Sudio, extends his hand. I do the same. He swats at me. I swear he's giggling as I pull back in surprise. It's tempting to linger and try to engage them in some form of communication. But Swett tries to keep human interaction to a minimum so the animals will focus on each other as their primary social group. This is part of the rehabilitation program that will eventually allow for the release of many of the primates back to the wild.

Swett can't help but become a little cynical after so many years of working to undo the psychological and physical harm these animals have suffered at the hands of humans. Most of them are not capable of going back to their natural habitat. But rising above the sense of resignation to this reality is Swett's hopeful and committed spirit. You won't find him picketing or marching with animal rights activists because, as he says, "I have found that billboards, picket lines, protests, illegal actions have not effected the release or retirement of any primates. I prefer a different and more direct approach." And he's been around too long and seen too much good in too many people to give up now.

One of Swett's favorite anecdotes could also serve as his proverbial light in the darkness. He remembers Christmas Eve 1986 with special poignancy. "I was sitting alone at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the stars. I had $36 in the bank, hundreds of animals to care for and a pile of unpaid bills. It was one of those times when I wondered how I could go on. Then the phone rang. The voice said he was Bob Barker and I thought it was a joke. But it was really Bob Barker (popular game show host and long-time emcee of the Miss America pageant). He said he'd been looking into Primarily Primates for five years and was ready to make a contribution in memory of his late wife. A few weeks later the check arrived. "He sent a quarter of a million dollars," Swett says, sounding amazed all over again.

Barker's one-time gift and many more smaller ones from thousands of supporters have kept Primarily Primates growing. Stephen Tello, executive secretary of the organization, is the chief fundraiser. Tello, his dark hair tied back in a long ponytail, spends a lot of time in front of a computer screen writing letters of appeal, monthly newsletters to 11,000 supporters and grant proposals to foundations. He keeps the Web site updated with individual photos and histories of many of the animals and responds to requests for more information. A small house on the premises has been converted into offices where Tello works with staff and volunteers to keep the paper moving that allows the sanctuary to stay open. The "To Do" basket is overflowing.

Most recently, Primarily Primates has been in the news because the U.S. Air Force agreed to retire 30 "astrochimps" here. The chimps were procured from the wild for specific use in the U.S. space program. Two of the original group, Enos and Ham, paved the way for John Glenn to make his historic orbit in 1963. Since then, chimps have been an integral part of research allowing humans to undertake longer and more daring forays into outer space. If the Air Force chimps had not come to Primarily Primates they would have stayed at research labs that leased them after they were no longer useful to the space program. "This effort is a historical event," Swett says. "On the whole, we humans haven't been humane to our closest living relatives. We've used them. They've entertained us in circuses, educated us and been imprisoned looking for cures for our illnesses. If they can't be in the wild where they belong, at the very least, they deserve retirement."

Primarily Primates Web site is www.primarilyprimates.org