by Ralph Helfer
Zamba
The True Story of the Greatest Lion That Ever Lived
Ralph Helfer
Dedicated
to
Mom, Dad, and my sister Sally Ann
Contents
Preface
1
I have spent my life living and working peacefully with…
2
The warm, gentle breeze hugged the earth, drying elephant grass…
3
There are events that change the entire course of your…
4
In the years before Zamba came to me, I had…
5
After that horrible day hunting with Uncle Chan, I pledged…
6
Though I was happy running Nature’s Haven, I found that…
7
When Zamba came into my life, I was beginning to…
8
The philosophy behind affection training may have been simple, but…
9
As I have said, Zamba’s training was pretty much constant…
10
As a cub, Zamba slept in my bed most of…
11
Zamba didn’t sleep with me every night; it was also…
12
You don’t see a whole lot of old lions in…
13
Once trained, Zamba worked steadily, and I’m happy to report…
14
Our animal family was growing and we needed room, so…
15
Our sense of peace was not to last. By dawn…
16
Zamba and I did a lot of television together. We…
17
Brini and Jack’s phone call had changed my life completely.
18
The next week passed in a blur. I couldn’t believe…
19
Preparing for a long journey always takes a certain amount…
20
Coming to Africa had a profound effect on both Zamba…
21
Life in Africa was very good. Shooting the movie, on…
22
During the next few weeks, Zamba seemed a bit uncomfortable.
23
About a week after our return, we were shooting some…
24
The big day had finally come—the day I was…
25
The heaviest rains usually come between March and June, but…
26
The rain had held up production for months, and when…
27
I returned to the States from Africa in 1963. I…
28
Once back from Africa, Zamba was once again a regular…
29
It was the eighteenth anniversary of the day Brini and…
Tribute to Zamba
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise
Also by Ralph Helfer
Copyright
About the Publisher
Preface
The writing of Zamba has been both an emotional and a rewarding experience. It allowed me to relive eighteen years of my life with a true and loyal friend.
Living with an African lion, bringing him into my world and teaching him to be patient and understanding with us humans, was an in-depth study of the potential of human-animal relationships. But what was more important was how Zamba taught me his way of life and allowed me to enter into his domain and share the unique God-given wonders offered to him.
I realize now more than ever before that animals are indeed perfect. As a result of living by nature’s law, they live a life as God intended. We humans, unlike animals, have the power of choice and therefore have the ability to go against nature and do whatever we desire. Unfortunately our choices are not always the right ones.
Writing about living with a lion brought back all the grand moments we shared. As I wrote, I felt as if each event was actually happening one more time, and I trembled with excitement, just as before. I smiled, even laughed aloud when I remembered a cherished occasion. But there were hard times, too, and when I recalled the tender moments, my tears flowed, and I had to close the book until the sadness was not too much to bear.
Now, please settle back, open your hearts, and share my life with Zamba, the greatest lion that ever lived.
1
I have spent my life living and working peacefully with animals. But one of my most formative learning experiences was an incident that ended with me in the hospital.
I was in my late teens. I was doing stunts and assisting other trainers with their animals, and I was offered a job as a stuntman for a Hollywood studio. They asked that I work an adult male lion on a pedestal, just as is done in the circus. They wanted him to snarl and swipe at me a few times.
I told them I’d be happy to, but for one problem: I had no lion. I said thanks anyhow and hung up.
Later that day the studio called again. They said that they’d found a lion. The man who owned him would be out of town for the day of the shoot, but he knew of me and felt I could do the stunt. He said that the lion, who was called Rex, was old and would respond to certain basic commands. The handler who’d be bringing Rex to the shoot could tell me everything I needed to know.
I could hardly contain my excitement. I had been obsessed with lions since childhood, and I held them in the highest esteem, more than any other creature. To me they represented the best that nature had to offer. Their regal attitude, proud stance, strength, and dignity always made me feel I was in the presence of royalty, and I felt a real spiritual connection to them—I felt called to work with them.
I have always been convinced that very real communication between humans and animals is possible, and I was sure that working with a lion was my own key to that interaction. But at that time in my career I hadn’t yet set foot in an arena with any animal, let alone with a lion. And this job wasn’t the way I had imagined my first solo interaction with a lion would be. I knew that this animal had been “fear trained,” and working with an animal that had been tamed with cruelty and violence went against all my principles. I also realized that it had the potential to be very, very dangerous.
In spite of my reservations, the studio made it hard to refuse the job. They said I was just the right size, and they offered me a good deal of money. Times were rough. I had acquired a number of small animals—raccoons, opossums, kinkajous, a red-tailed hawk, and a small mountain lion—and my expenses had escalated. I reasoned with my conscience: after all, I hadn’t had anything to do with the lion’s training, and I certainly wouldn’t be hurting him. In fact, it could be the other way around. I accepted.
The hard part was telling my girlfriend.
“Ralph, you’re an idiot! This is an incredibly stupid thing to do. You don’t know the lion, and he’s never met you. You can’t get instructions from some guy five minutes before you go into the ring to work a lion.”
“The trainer said it won’t be a problem, and I really need the money.”
“We don’t need it that badly. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Sweet, athletic Laura had helped me build my small collection of animals. We argued for hours, until she finally gave up on me.
“Go ahead—kill yourself. Enjoy your short career.”
In my heart, I knew she was right. But I needed the money, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Although I didn’t agree with the methods of trainers who used fear, I had seen what they did and how they did it, and I felt I could mimic their commands. I didn’t need to abuse the animal—I was just going to be following the directions I was given, issuing commands that the owner had trained the lion to respond to years before. The handler who accompanied the lion would tell me what to do and how to do it, and I’d be home by
lunch.
On the day of the shoot, when I arrived at the studio I noticed a pickup truck and trailer parked near the entrance to the big soundstage. Actually, it wasn’t the pickup I noticed so much as the enormous African lion pacing in a large portable cage nearby, jaws dripping with saliva. A man dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans, a striped Western shirt, cowboy boots, and a broad-brimmed hat stood near the cage. The telltale string coming out of his shirt pocket meant he was carrying a small bag of “Bullderm” chewing tobacco.
I introduced myself and asked how the lion was feeling. The handler cocked his hat back on his balding head and said, “Well, okay, I guess.”
“You guess?” I questioned.
“Well, yeah, a bit restless, but…” He hesitated. “He’s okay.”
A squirt of tobacco juice landed on the ground near me. “When do these people pay us?” he asked.
I’d seen this type of guy hanging around the barns at some of the animal compounds. He was a mess of uncouth habits and flaunted his couldn’t-care-less attitude.
“I think they’ll pay by check in about a week,” I said.
Another stream of spit hit the dirt.
I saw the situation for what it was. This fellow needed money, and he’d let me work the lion—even if it was unsafe—just to get it. I felt a strange sensation in my stomach. But I didn’t back out. In the next two minutes he told me all that he knew about Rex, which was how to get him to sit on the pedestal, cuff at me with his paw, and snarl.
“That’s it,” he said.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it—no big deal.”
“Has he ever been handled?”
“You mean touched?”
I nodded yes.
“Are you crazy? He’d kill you!”
My opinion of this guy sank even lower—and my nerves weren’t improving.
“Okay, kid, we’re ready for you.” A man spoke from the slightly open door of the soundstage.
There were about thirty-five people on the set. Assistant directors, set decorators, electricians, carpenters, script girl—it’s always amazing to me how many people it takes behind the camera to make a movie.
The director, the person responsible for what happens in front of the camera, came over and introduced himself. He cautioned me not to turn around; I was doubling an actor who was my size and build, and he needed my back to the camera.
“Get the lion in up on the pedestal and make him snarl and cuff at you with his paw. If you can do that, we’ll have our print and we can all go home. Okay?” he asked.
“Okay,” I answered, more confidently than I felt.
I was escorted to makeup and wardrobe, and for the next hour I was made up to look like the actor. I was dressed in a standard blue and gold arena costume, with high boots, gold epaulets dangling on my shoulders, and a proper beaked cap on my head.
Back on the set, I saw they had set up a steel arena on the stage, with a circus scene backdrop. The cement floor in the arena was covered with a thick layer of sawdust. In the middle stood a heavy metal pedestal. A line of portable cages had been rolled up and positioned to form a chute, leading to a side door in the arena. Rex had settled down and was lying complacently at the far end of the chute. The director showed me my mark—the spot where I was to stand. It seemed a bit close to Rex’s pedestal, but I was not in any state of mind to question it.
I took my mark.
“Roll camera!” yelled the assistant director.
Cameras rolled.
“Action!” yelled the director.
I held the whip and the chair that Rex’s handler had brought. A pistol was strapped to my belt, but I hadn’t checked to see whether it was real or not. I nervously nodded for the handler to open the chute door and cracked the whip to signal the lion in, per the instructions I’d been given. The handler took a long pole and jabbed Rex in the belly. The lion responded by roaring in anger, jumping to his feet, and charging into the ring. He was huge, with a full mane, and I figured he had to weigh a good five hundred pounds.
I breathed for what felt like the first time in days. Well, I thought, he’s in the ring. That’s one down—two tricks to go.
He mounted the pedestal without me giving any cues at all. That was two. I jockeyed into position to get the snarl and cuff. I cracked the whip and gave the cue the handler had given me, and Rex gave a full snarl and his best MGM roar, lashing out at me with his massive paw. That’s three, I thought. It’s over. I heard the director yell, “Cut.”
I’ve never felt so relieved in my life. My costume was soaked in sweat, but the scene had gone beautifully. I backed away and was about to give the signal to raise the chute door when I heard the director say, “That was great, son. Let’s do it again.”
What? How could we do better than that first take? In the years to come, I was to learn that directors always want that second shot.
“Tight shot on the lion!” he yelled. The cameramen fussed with their equipment. I tried my best to keep Rex on the pedestal until they were ready, but I could tell he was getting nervous.
After a few minutes the assistant director yelled again, “Roll camera!”
“Action!” yelled the director.
My sweat-soaked costume was beginning to chafe. The arm holding the chair was shaking, and the whip felt as if it weighed fifty pounds. In a near panic I approached the lion. Again I gave the cue, and again he snarled. But this time I thought I glimpsed a different look in his eyes, as though he was realizing for the first time that I wasn’t his real trainer. As I stepped into position to be cuffed, I saw his hind end move from a sitting position to a crouch. His ears disappeared into his mane, and a low, guttural, vibrato growl came from his throat. His huge eyes changed from tawny to blood red.
Oh shit! I thought.
Rex launched himself at me. The force of his lunge shot the pedestal back a full fifteen feet, and it hit the steel bars with a deafening clang. His front feet hit the ground only once before he reached me. He nailed me full in the chest, knocking me to the ground. The force was astonishing, and my head struck hard against the cement floor hiding under the sawdust. I saw a whirl of fur, flaming eyes, flashing teeth. The stench of his rancid breath filled my lungs.
All of a sudden, my arm was in his mouth. I actually heard my flesh pop as he sank his fang into my wrist. I put my arm over my face for protection and saw a huge, gaping hole where he’d punctured my wrist. Blood poured out onto my face and chest. I felt his hind claws ripping at my legs through the costume.
I looked up, and what I saw still gives me night sweats to this day. Rex was on top of me, his face not more than a foot from mine. He was roaring in defiance and rage, with blood—my blood!—soaking the fur around his mouth and dripping from his fangs. His crimson eyes were full of hatred.
Shock overcame me as I realized I was about to be killed. Strangely, the emotion I felt most strongly wasn’t fear or pain, but anger. I was pissed. Obviously I had done something wrong. What? I didn’t know. But I was furious at myself. I loved animals, and I knew that I could help them to communicate effectively with humans, so that we could work and live together in peaceful harmony. What was I doing here?
People were running around outside the arena screaming, but no one was coming in to help.
Blood from my wrist clouded my eyes, and I couldn’t see. I was afraid to move, to resist in any way. Then I heard the steel arena door squeak open. Someone was coming! Someone was dragging something heavy across the cement floor, and suddenly there was a deafening, high-pitched noise, like a truck tire exploding. I strained to see what was happening, but all I could see was a dense cloud of smokelike vapor filling the arena. Using me as a launching platform, Rex leaped for the chute door. I knew he was safely enclosed when I heard the door slam shut.
I felt a number of hands pick me up and carry me outside, from the arena, through the lot, onto the street. Someone with a wet cloth wiped the blood from my face. I shaded my face from the sun
and noticed sunlight shining through the hole where Rex’s fang had gone through my wrist.
“We can’t wait for the ambulance!” someone shouted. “Load him in here!”
I had a blurred view of a station wagon and someone lowering the back gate. “Where are you going with my new station wagon?” a woman yelled.
“This man needs to be taken to a hospital, now!”
Apparently her car was the only one parked in front of the stage door with the keys in the ignition.
“Don’t let him bleed on my upholstery!” I heard her say. It was the last thing I heard for a while.
I woke up in the hospital, feeling as if I’d been run over by a freight train. I was bandaged all up and down my legs and arms. Rex’s claws had ripped skin from all over my body, and he’d broken a few ribs when he used me as his launchpad. The worst part was the bite on my wrist.
“It went clean through,” said the doctor. “Quarter inch either way and he would have severed an artery. You could have lost your hand.”
When my visitors had left and I was alone for the night, I lay in that hospital bed and thought about what had happened—why the scene had gone the way it had. The attack did more than physically hurt me; it woke me up. My love of lions had blinded me to the dangers they posed. Of course, I’d known in some abstract way that lions were dangerous, but I had never dreamed that one would turn on me.
Rex had been my first close encounter with a large exotic, and while it wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind, when I think about it now, it was probably the best thing that could have happened.