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Megillah Gorilla
I have a vivid childhood memory of standing close to the bars of a cage and communing with Bushman, the 550-pound gorilla at Chicago's Lincoln Park Zoo. He had assumed a gorilla position: seated on the floor and at the same time leaning forward on an elbow. His enormous head level with mine, he idly toyed with a piece of celery and gazed into my soul with his intelligent little black eyes. Bushman was not some cute ape. He was massive, ugly, brutal-looking, with gleaming white teeth. He looked like an old-fashioned weightlifter. He was my friend, and because I knew him, I was a special person. Because he liked me — and it was certain he liked me — I could face any bully. I believed if I were in trouble, Bushman would somehow come to my aid. And at the very least, I could talk over my problems with him. His name came up in daily conversation. Over a period of 20 years I doubt there was a boy or girl in the city of Chicago who did not feel exactly the same way. It was not just kids who loved him. He was easily the most popular figure in the city. When he fell sick, more than 100,000 people reportedly visited him in a single day. And when he finally died, there was grief. I remember how it stung. I am lucky. I have personally known a gorilla, and a great one. For everyone else, there are many fine gorilla books, some of which I present to you now. Daniel Pinkwater dedicated his book Second-Grade Ape (Scholastic, $4) to Bushman. By Daniel Pinkwater
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