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The Alligator on the Workbench

by Rusty C Arquette


When I was a child…
between the ages of one and five…
we lived in a big old ‘cracker style’ house…
wood frame, pine floors, tin roof…
something that was hot in the summer
and cold in the winter
and the wind blew through it
like it wasn’t there…

there was an  out-building, 
we laughingly called a ‘garage,’
which was a gray, weathered structure
made of split cypress planking…
it had a rusty tin roof and a dirt floor
it had no doors, open to the weather…
and it leaned to one side
looking as if it would slowly fall over
if given a good shove…
inside, along the sidewalls,
were bales of hay, a tractor tire,
rolls of fence wire, bags of feed,
tools of one sort or another
a big sickle bar lawn mower, 
and more junk than you 
could shake a stick at…
across the closed end
was a long, wide shelf  made 
of 2x10 planking…
a distinct sag at its center…
repeatedly soaked
with oil, gas, and paint…
it was grimy and stained
the color of wet earth…
dad called it a ‘workbench’
but I never saw anyone work on it…

dad bought  my Uncle Ed’s
hand me down Cadillac for a song…
it was either a ’48 or ’49 vintage…
a strange metallic green color…
the trunk  sloped down in back
to its peeling chrome bumper…
it was a large vehicle…
like some gigantic Dung Beetle…
it occupied the major area
of the grungy old garage…

one night mom and dad
had been out to a party
and arrived home around 9:30
with two sleepy kids in the car…
me, a tired four year old
and my brother Jon, 
just a year old ball of pink…
dad made the usual turn
into our marl driveway
and pulled the ‘big green boat’
inside the cramped confines
of our ramshackle ‘garage’…

mom called for me to wake up…
I was drooling on the back seat…
but I responded sleepily 
and got to my feet
holding onto the cord across
the back of the front seat…
mom wrapped Jon in his blanket
for the trek to the house
in the inky darkness of
a moonless Florida night…

mom was about to open her door…
dad put his hand on her arm
and said, ‘wait,  Jane!’…
mom asked, ‘what?’…
dad replied quietly, ‘look’…
nodding toward the workbench
which was lit up in our headlights…
mom gasped, ‘oh my gawd!’…

I looked over the backseat,
but I couldn’t see anything…
mom asked, ‘how did it get up there?’…
‘climbed up using the hay bales
as stairs, it looks like,’ he replied…
something dark moved on the bench…
long, dark, and reptilian in appearance…
‘why would the stupid thing be up there,
high and dry, on a workbench
in our garage?” puzzled my mom…
‘it’s been dry,’ offered dad,
‘it may be running the ditches
looking for food’…

we were looking at an alligator…
        [el lagarto as the Spanish dubbed it…
        meaning, ‘the lizard,’…
        some would argue 
        a bit of an understatement] 
a six footer from the looks of it…
not at all  an uncommon sight
here in the Everglades state,
where Florida is dotted with lakes,
ponds, drainage canals, and swamps…
but not something you’d expect
to see four feet off the ground
lying on your workbench…
during dry months
or during the spring
when it’s mating season…
the big ‘lizards’ will move from
pond to pond via ditches and canals…
sometimes ending up paddling
about someone’s swimming pool…
not just a nuisance or a casual pest,
but a dangerous animal
with a mouth full of teeth
and the ability to sprint faster
than a person can run…
nothing we natives take lightly… 

as it turned out, 
this gator was attracted
by one of our cats and her liter
she had nested behind 
the tractor tire on the sidewall…
the mewing and their scent
had lured it in search of an easy meal…
it couldn’t reach the cat and her brood
so it was waiting for it to come out…
it just picked a rather strange
place to wait…

dad hurried us into the house…
I was put to bed, but I couldn’t sleep…
all the activity over the intruder
had left me wide awake and listening…
dad called the sheriff’s office
to see what to do about our ‘friend’…
the sheriff knew my dad 
and told him it was against the law
to ‘kill or harass’ one of these critters,
but if it was him, with two kids around,
‘he’d shoot the damn thing!’…
dad thought about it,
but wasn’t sure he wanted someone
turning him in for plugging a gator…

the second suggestion 
was to call ‘Texas Jim’ to remove it…
this was a local character
who had set up an attraction 
about 20 miles north of us…
who called his roadside setup,
‘Texas Jim’s Reptile Ranch’…
        [why he wasn’t ‘Florida Jim’
        I guess we’ll never know?]
where he collected an assortment
of snakes, gators, turtles, and more…
housed in homemade cages and pens…
he had a state permit
which allowed him to catch and release,
or if too dangerous, kill alligators…
the endeavor paid for itself… 
he sold the meat from the tails
to local restaurants and the skins
to leather shops and craftsmen…
and any critters he liked
ended up an exhibition
at the ‘Reptile Ranch’…

dad gave him a call…
it was close to 10:00 pm,
but Jim always answered the phone…
ready to go anytime, anywhere,
to pick up a few extra bucks…
        [he also charged you $20 or more
        to cart the troublesome ones away…]
Jim knew my old man,
it was a small community in ’54…
dad told him about the cats in the garage…
he asked, ‘you got small kids there, don’t ya’?’
my dad told him yes, two…
‘chances are he smells them too…
we need to get rid of him, pronto!’
he said keep an eye on him till he got there…
in 45 minutes he was at the house…

in the house we heard the racket…
mom stood at the screen door 
in the kitchen and repeated,
‘oh my gawwwwwd!’…
but it wasn’t till later that dad
sat at the kitchen table
and told her what had gone on…

he had returned to the house
and dug out his hunting light…
it took it out to the garage
and shone it on the bench…
the gator was still there, snoozing…
Jim told him to back the car out 
and leave the headlights on…
Jim got a rope from his truck…
a big loop tied in one end…
he walked slowly up to the bench…
‘this isn’t going to be pretty,’ he spat,
‘watch all your toes and fingers, Les’…
he carefully slipped the noose
over the gators snout and yanked…
usually Jim jumped on a gator’s back,
pinning it down once he had a rope on it,
on the shelf it wasn’t possible…
the alligator came alive…
it jumped forward trying to escape
knocking bottles and cans from the bench…
Jim held on waiting for its next move…

it started swinging its tail… 
paint cans popped open 
and their content splattered the area…
along with turpentine, oil, 
and a number of other sticky products…
the gator slipped…
its right fore foot missed the bench
and it roll off the edge…
as soon as it hit the dirt
it began to spin and the dust flew
floating thick
in the beams of the headlights… 
dad grabbed the rope with Jim…
when the gator stopped spinning
Jim jumped, straddling its back
just behind its head…

a few more loops 
secured the animals mouth…
its legs were pulled back,
both front and rear,
and it was ‘hog-tied’
leaving only the tail as a threat…
‘watch that tail Les,’ choked Jim,
‘he’ll give ya’ a good shot if ya’ let’em!’

awkwardly, the two dragged the reptile
out to Texas Jims truck…
dropped the tailgate…
hoisted the squirming animal up
and wrestled him into the bed…
the job complete…

dad invited Jim to have a drink
before he headed home…
mom stopped them on the porch
and told them to stay out there…
she’d bring them their drinks…
they both laughed…
they were covered in dirt,
grease, oil, and the other stuff
the gator had tossed around…
including four shades
of house paint…

Jim decided to keep the gator
instead of turning him loose
out in the wilds…
he kept him at his ‘Ranch’…
so at least a couple times
a year we’d all pile in the car
and drive up to see our gator…

Jim had names for all his displays…
our gator was no different…
he was in a pen with a pond in it
and on the fence was a sign…
Jim had jokingly named the gator
‘Lester’ after my old man…
my dad acted a bit miffed about it,
but it didn’t stop him from
taking all our house guests
up to Sarasota to see the beast…

in a turn of events
that reflects how odd 
life can truly be…
my dad died back in 1969…
and Texas Jim’s Reptile Ranch
was sold, torn down,
and all the animals released…
dads gone,
but I think ‘Lester’,
is still alive and grinning 
in some green swamp somewhere
out east of town…
our ‘alligator on the workbench’…

05/25/2004

Author's Note: Just one of the things that could happen to you in 1950's Florida...never a dull moment!

Posted on 05/25/2004
Copyright © 2024 Rusty C Arquette

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Maureen Glaude on 05/25/04 at 03:13 PM

boy, and I thought digging around for stuff in the basement here creeped me out! this is quite a story. I must show my brother, who visits FLorida to see his in-laws often.

Posted by Maureen Glaude on 05/25/04 at 03:14 PM

I realize your alligator was in the garage, not the basement, but it made me think of our workbench area in the basement that always creeps me out.

Posted by Anne Engelen on 05/26/04 at 06:37 PM

another captivating story Rc! Most enjoyable as always.

Posted by Charles E Minshall on 05/28/04 at 02:17 AM

Funtastic aligator TAIL Rusty...Charlie

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