May 19, 2006

Section One Letters 3ColumnsHot Type 4The battle between Lake and Shore

The Straight Dope 5Can garlic oil be deadly?

Chicago Antisocial 8One night spent thinking about John Wayne Gacy is one too many.

These Partsa A man, his land, and the predators hecalls his kids (below)a The oldest bowling alley in the countryis in the basement of a Milwaukee bar 10a Fried chicken that’s worth the trip—and the wait 11a A low-power radio success story inHarbor Country 13

a Building “social capital” in the socialistcapital of the U.S. 15a Has Bigfoot migrated to central Illinois? 16Plus: Good eats in Iowa, good thrifting inWisconsin, cycling southwest Michigan,camping in Illinois, and our special pullout guideto summer fairs and festivals around the region

ReviewsMusic 36Brian Costello on the final Horizontal ActionBlackout

Movies 40Andy Garcia’s The Lost City

Theater 44Sean Graney’s Porno

PlusInk Well 31This week’s crossword: Getting Fresh

J oe Taft wants his bedroom back. For fourmonths it’s been inhabited by a baby tigernamed Max, while Taft, who’s 60, crashes on

the couch. “I can’t get him out of my house until Imove these other cats into the new pens being

built,” he says. “Then Ican finally have a bed-room. The walls are

pretty raggedy in there.” He means claw marks,like the ones in his kitchen and living room.

Taft walks into the bedroom and pushes open

the sliding door to the pen where Max is. Thetiger immediately dives for his ankle. “Now don’tbite your dad,” he says. Max then tries to get hispaws around Taft’s head.

Taft is director of the Exotic Feline RescueCenter in Center Point, Indiana, which provideshomes for big cats—lions, tigers, panthers,pumas—that have nowhere else to live out theirlives. The cats come from across the country, pri-marily from government agencies such as the U.S.Fish and Wildlife Service and the state Depart-

ment of Natural Resources, which take the animalsfrom owners who’ve neglected or abused them—sometimes circus people, mostly private individ-uals. Taft can’t take all the cats he gets calls about.“There are a number that we don’t take that are putto sleep,” he says. “Several cats that we didn’t takeremained where they were and got in trouble—bitpeople or escaped. Some of them were placed inother centers.” Taft usually won’t take a cat hedoesn’t have room for, but Max was a special case—continued on page 18

By Gretchen Kalwinski

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His Wild KingdomJoe Taft’s 200 big cats get to live out their lives in peace. He gets to live a lifelong dream.

Joe Taft, director and founder of the Exotic Feline Rescue Center

Center Point, IN

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the DNR rescued him when hewas just seven weeks old.

The EFRC has been operatingsince 1991, when Taft moved toCenter Point with two tigers anda leopard. It’s now home to 200cats on 110 acres. Taft doesn’tadvertise, but word of mouthbrings him around 7,000 visitorsa year, most of them kids onschool trips. There aren’t manyother reasons to visit CenterPoint, a sleepy place 240 milessoutheast of Chicago that’s like aghost town—the main drag has aboarded-up general store andantique shop, a diner with nopatrons. But that’s exactly whatTaft wanted. When he wasscouting properties he told thereal estate agent, “I’m looking fora place with no neighbors.”

With good reason. Taft put thebutchering area right at theentrance to make it easy forfarmers to drop off sick or deadlivestock, so the first thing a vis-itor often sees is a blood-spat-tered employee hacking up a cowwith a chain saw. And the areareeks of urine, feces, and rottingmeat, though the rest of thecenter just smells like an ordi-nary zoo. At one point whileTaft’s giving a tour of the centerhe walks up to a ten-foot pile ofmostly eaten carcasses on pallets.“One of the most unending jobswe have around here is waste

control,” he says, squirting char-coal lighter fluid on the heap. Helights one match after anotherand tosses them on the pile, andfinally flames shoot up. A bar-becue smell fills the air.

The center’s head butcher andassistant director, Suzanne Taylor,takes the admission fee from visi-tors, then warns people not to gettoo close to the fences or put theirhands through the mesh. “If a catappears distressed by your pres-ence walk away quickly,” she says.“If it turns its back end towardyou it’s going to spray—and that’swhen you should run.” But peoplekeep coming because the EFRCprovides a more intimate experi-ence than a zoo.

Around 130 cats are on displayin the main visitors’ area, and 30more are down the road in over-flow pens in the yard behind Taft’shouse, which also contains theEFRC’s offices. People who wantto watch the cats at night can pay$120 to sleep in his extra bed-room, from which they have agreat view of three of the tigers inthe lighted backyard. Another 35cats are in a restricted area aneighth of a mile away becausethey’re aggressive. “This tigerkilled his trainer,” Taft says, as hewalks past its pen. “Those twotigers sticking their heads aroundthe bend are extremely aggressive.We don’t let anybody near them.”

The chain-link fences sepa-

rating people from cats are 12feet high and topped with barbedwire. Visitors walk through thenarrow pathways of the main vis-iting area unsupervised by staff.Near feeding time tigers some-times stalk them, licking theirchops. Taft says that the enclo-sures are more than sufficient tokeep the cats on their side andthat because the animals are well

fed they’re not dangerous. Taft’s affinity for big cats goes

back to childhood. Raised inColorado, he loved the DenverZoo and remembers when it firstopened outdoor enclosures for itscats. During his undergraduatestudies in philosophy at IndianaState University one of his profes-sors talked about having oncekept a lion as a pet, and shortly

afterward Taft stopped at a petstore near his apartment. “I askedthem about keeping big cats, andthey said, ‘Oh, sure, that’s some-thing that people can do.’” Hesays he started fantasizing about“driving around with a well-behaved cheetah in a Lotus.”

He bought his first cat, an ocelothe named Ozzie, from the pet

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CHICAGO READER | MAY 19, 2006 | SECTION ONE 31

store. Soon he dropped out of col-lege and moved to Chimayo, NewMexico, where he could let Ozzierun unleashed in the nationalforest—something he says he’dnever do now. “My educationbegan with Ozzie—living with herwas a tremendous learning expe-rience,” he says. “I also read a lotof books on animal behavior, onkeeping pet ocelots, about peoplewho’d spent time with the circus,and books like the ‘Born Free’group, which was a series ofbooks and then movies by JoyAdamson, whose husband was agame warden in Africa. Theyraised three orphan lion cubs whopretty much ran loose. I also wentto places where they kept cats andsaw how other people did it. Iwent to zoos—I’ve always been abig zoo fan. I went to Texas,where there are a lot of privateowners and facilities, a few ofwhich were nice and many thatwere horrifying. I’ve also visitedfacilities in the Las Vegas area,Ohio, New York, Illinois, Indiana.”

After Ozzie died Taft got aleopard, Taaka, from a privateowner in California who’d kepther in the parking lot next to hermobile home. Taaka had the “runof the house most of the time”

during the two decades she livedwith Taft. “I probably spent thefirst two years thinking that I’dmade a terrible mistake andbeing halfway afraid to be home,”he says. But that changed. “She’dsleep on my bed in the winter.”

Taft stayed in Chimayo for 20years, running a constructioncompany and working as an exca-vation contractor. But he knew hewanted to open a rescue center.

“All I everwanted to dois share mylife withcats,” hesays. Hewanted aplace wherehe could givethe animalsa lot of roomto movearound, andhe knew hecould do that

in Indiana. He also knew he’dhave access to plenty of livestockthere. Taaka and two tigers intow, he drove back to the midwest.

Today the EFRC has 11 full-time and 2 part-time staffers anda $375,000 yearly operatingbudget. Last year visitors’ feesbrought in approximately

$135,000; additional moneycame from fund-raisers like theRun Through the Jungle 5KWalk/Run as well as member-ships, sponsorships, grants, andthe sale of T-shirts, hats, andmagnets with cat images on theWeb site. Vet care costs $15,000per year—there’s a clinic in theoffice basement for the vet, wholives nearby. The center’s catfood may be essentially free, agift from the local farmers, butTaft says processing it costsapproximately $35,000 a year,since one staffer “does nothingbut go around and pick up deadlivestock.” The cats go through3,000 pounds of meat per day.“If we weren’t able to process ourown livestock,” he says, “if we hadto do some kind of commercialcarnivore diet, we wouldn’t beable to do this.”

Taft’s construction skills comein handy at the center. “A largepart of [keeping cats] is beingable to build,” he says. His formaleducation hasn’t proved particu-larly useful, but he prefers hiringpeople with relevant degrees. “Ifthey’ve stuck it out for four yearsin school, then they’ll probablystick it out for a while on a job,”he says. “The college grads we’vehad are better at record keeping,

noticing aberrant behaviors,noting the onset of illness anddisease. And they make moreastute observations about matingcycles and all the attendantaggression—and certainly makefor better tour guides.”

Rebecca Rizzo, a 24-year-oldstaffer wearing glitter eyeshadow and blood-and-feces-stained cargo pants, studiedzoology. “I always loved animals,wanted to work with big cats,”she says, “so I put two and twotogether and found this place.”The work is primarily feedingand cleaning. “It’s just loadingcarts and pens and rememberingwho eats what, cleaning thecages. Sometimes I butcher updeer and calves.”

Nine of the 11 staffers arewomen. “We’ve had guys inter-view but the pay is just not there,and to guys that is usually a bigissue,” Rizzo says. “Some of themalso had trouble working underwomen. And I think the cats arejust used to women.”

Taft and his staff spend as muchtime as they can educating peopleabout the plight of the cats. Heoccasionally gives lectures, andJean Herrberg does presentationsat schools. The center also pub-lishes a seasonal “Cat Tales” e-

newsletter and offers guided fieldtrips, a volunteer program, andcredit and noncredit internships.Many of the volunteers andinterns are from Indiana Univer-sity, staff and students who drivethe 35 miles from Bloomingtonto build cages, clean pens, andsometimes prepare meat for thecats. Taft has no interest in havinganyone train the cats. “We don’ttry to teach our cats to do any-thing,” he says proudly.

A ll exotic-cat rescue centersare supposed to be licensed

by the USDA. The EFRC is, andthe agency periodically inspectsit. DNR officials have alsochecked it out. “The animals allappeared to be well cared for,”says the department’s LinneaPeterchaff, who went to see howMax was doing this past winter.“Their cages provide a lot ofspace in a natural habitat, withplenty of room for the cats towalk around and jump on plat-forms. Some even have ponds inwhich the cats can swim andplay. The cages and perimeterfence were all secure.” She callsthe staff “very knowledgeable.”

In 15 years there’s been onlyone accident at the center, and

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Exotic FelineRescue CenterWHEN Tue-Sat 10AM-5 PMWHERE 2221 E.Ashboro Rd., CenterPoint, IndianaPRICE $10, $5 forchildren 12 andunderINFO 812-835-1130or exoticfelineres-cuecenter.org

32 CHICAGO READER | MAY 19, 2006 | SECTION ONE

Taft says it was because safetyprocedures weren’t followed. Thepens have two sets of paired guil-lotine-style slide gates that allowworkers to open the outer oneand set down food, then close theouter one and raise the inner oneso the cat can get it. They alsouse the gates to corral the catswhile they clean the pens. “Thiskid had worked for a while andwas cleaning a cage, and insteadof paying attention to what hewas doing, he got distracted,”Taft says. “He started looking atthis beautiful girl who’d walkedup—he pulled on the cable toopen the slide gate and wasstanding there looking at herwith the door open. The tigercame up to him, grabbed hisshoulder, dragged him to thefeeding pile, and bit him in thebutt.” Taft was nearby, and whenhe heard the girl scream he rantoward the cage yelling. He saysas soon as the tiger heard him itlet go of the guy. “I picked up theshovel and a bucket that we usedfor picking up poop, becausehaving those things in your handdoes a lot in terms of managingthem and making them movearound. Not that I ever hit themwith the shovel or anything, but

having something in your handalways impresses them. You’ll seethat sometimes circus trainershave just a little stick in theirhand, and cats respond to it. So Iwent in, and the tiger backed offfrom me, and I pulled him out.”After getting cleaned up at thehospital, the guy went back towork. Taft says he’s never beenseriously injured in 41 years ofdealing with wild cats. “I’ve onlygotten cuts and scrapes. Had agood chunk of hand sliced off bya lion’s claw once. It hurt like hellbut wasn’t life threatening.”

Just because a rescue center islicensed doesn’t mean it’s wellrun. Taft has two leopards thatcame from a man who ran acenter near LA. “When state andwildlife officials went to hishome—which was not where hewas supposed to have cats—theyfound almost a hundred deadlions and tigers and other cats inreally bad shape,” Taft says. “A lotof them were babies. With babiesyou can make money by lettingpeople take pictures with themor by selling them, but oncethey’re grown you have to feedand house them, and theybecome a liability.” According toa New York Times story, the manwas sentenced to two years in

prison. The guy who owned Maxhad a USDA license to breed andsell his animals, but after theDNR raided his property last fallthey seized most of his 24 tigersand other exotic animals.According to an Associated Pressstory, the head of the DNR calledthe conditions there “horrific.”

Taft, who frequently accompa-nies DNR, U.S. Fish and Wildlife

Service, and USDA officials onrescue missions, thinks the mainreason cats wind up being mis-treated is that people have unre-alistic expectations about whatowning them entails. “Peoplethat get these animals don’trealize how big they are,” he says,“how aggressive they are, anddon’t realize the kind of care orfood it takes to feed them.”

Despite the abuse he’s seen,Taft believes some people canhandle them as pets. “I knowpeople who do a really good jobwith these cats,” he says. “It isvery important that people beable to develop relationshipswith animals, and if people aren’table to build relationships withanimals, then there’s a lot of

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Rebecca Rizzo

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things about them and about usthat we’ll never know.”

He goes on, “I think there aredirect and strong parallelsbetween the way animals behaveand the way people behave—andI’m not trying to be anthropomor-phic here. I mean, we all dealwith aggression and flight andhunting one way or another—providing our sustenance, dealingwith social interaction. And ani-mals do all of this just like we do.So I think a relationship withanimals with that in mind opensus up to learning things aboutourselves, and that under-standing in turn helps us under-stand animals in a better light.”

Taft isn’t married and has nochildren. “At least none that

are bipeds,” he says. As he’swalking through the pens he seesthree male lions scuffling andchastises them: “Now daddy toldyou to stop that!” One of thelions comes up to the fence and

roars in his face. “Tucker, do notgrowl at me!” Taft says, lookingoffended. “Do! Not! Growl!” Amoment later Tucker begins nuz-zling Taft’s leg through the fence,suddenly an amorous house cat.Taft walks past a leopard. “Hi,Kayla,” he murmurs. Kaylahisses, baring teeth. “It’s OK,sweetie,” he says, chuckling.

Taft is usually the only stafferwho goes into a pen with a cat.“We make sure that there are twopeople there, and one is outsidethe cage to call for help or closedoors,” he says. “You certainlyhave to always have that aware-ness that it is a wild animal, thatthey do have this potential foraggression, that they are biggerthan you are, and that if they’rebecoming aggressive you’re notgoing to hold up to them or bemore aggressive than them. Somepeople will tell me, ‘Yeah, I’ll justgo in there and back it down.’ Butthese are animals that take downmulti-thousand-pound prey, like2,000-pound water buffaloes.

They’re certainly not going toback down to a 200-pound man.”

The only other precaution Tafttakes is to be armed with hisbucket and shovel and “myawareness.” Asked what makeshim different from exotic-animallovers like Timothy Treadwell,the subject of the documentaryGrizzly Man, he says, “Well, ifMax would decide to eat me hecould eat me—and I’d make surethat he’d still be locked in thecage. It’s the exposure of otherpeople to risk and the exposure ofthe animal to an escape potential.To be in the audience where someidiot walks an unleashed tigerthrough a bunch of people, that’snuts. I’m not getting on the sameside of a fence with a strangetiger, nor would I let anyone getthat close to one of my tigers.”

Yet he confesses that there are“a handful of cats that I go in thecage with just because we’refriends and I want to spend timewith them.” They include Kiki, aspotted leopard. “She was one of

the three cats that was with mewhen I first started this place,”he says. “When I come to her

cage she will stand up on herhind legs and hug me. You know,that’s pretty special.” v

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A leopard

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