Gator Breakdown
August 8, 2000

As I looked out over the gator-infested pond, I noticed mountains in the background. We were in Colorado with a bunch of Florida gators, and I don't mean football players. Something wasn't right. I began to tune my guitar. All of a sudden, I found myself face to face with a pair of gaping 'gator toothed jaws beneath a wet, smelly safari hat. Back home they might call it a Florida smile.

But this one had streaks of brown. And the breath smelled more like kerosene than fish. This was the mouth of Colorado Gators rancher Jay Young, a man as fearless as the giant gators he takes care of at his thermal spring 8,000 feet above swamp level. Jay was showing me the alligator tooth he actually super-glued into his mouth to replace a missing upper incisor. They call it the Colorado Gator Dental Plan, he explained.

I had a hard time believing his story. So I picked up a crystallized chunk of sand dune and without warning - while Jay was in mid-conversation - tossed it in his mouth. As soon as it landed on his tongue, Jay's jaws instinctively slammed down on that sucker with a thunderous clap that shook a diminished D chord right out of my old Telecaster.

So there I was, Raiford Starke, with my new band - the Deadhead Loggers - getting ready to perform on a makeshift wooden stage that Jay and his buddies had erected over the pond full of gators and what he called tilapia fish. I saw a gator with one leg missing, so I know there were piranha in there. I dropped my guitar pick through the floorboards and an immediate swirl of gnashing teeth and wild splashing gurgled up from the dark, turd-filled waters.

Sunset Beach Pete looked in those waters and was disgusted. "Raiford," he said, "we ain't in Copenhagen any more."

Friends, we were at Gator Fest 2000, the annual bash to raise money for Jay and his out-of-place reptiles. I looked out at the throngs gathered here at the only alligator farm west of the Mississippi, and let out a loud, pan-fried, tilapia-flavored belch. Hee-yah! I was feeling right on and ready to scream out some Starke music. Chief Jim Billie hadn't showed up yet, and I could see the window of fame opening up for ol' Raiford Starke.

Like a wild hog, I was ready to root up whatever fame that hadn't already been claimed by those cold-blooded, surly saurian tourist attractors, who do nothing but lounge around their geo-thermally heated lagoon, sipping artesian well water, dining on Nile perch and basking in their glory.

I hit an A chord and started into the Starke classic "Gator Wrestlin' Nun" when who else but ol' "you-know-who" shows up at the last second, grabs the microphone and starts "bellering" out: "Big alligator is mysterious. Big alligator is amphibious. Big alligator is dangerous..."

The crowd went wild. Oh well, I guess it's the Chief Jim Billie show again. The Chief played a lo-o-o-o-ng set - even though his finger was bit off by a gator he still feels real good when he is around them. He even stayed on stage and narrated the gator race and the gator wrestling competition. He did good! "Chief,'' I told him, "you need to quit this music and apply for Dennis Miller's job on Monday Night Football. You're a natural, man!"

When the Chief was done, I caught one or two of the band members walking off stage. "Hold it guys," I said, "We ain't done yet, we still got the Raiford Starke show to do." Between every song, I would scan around the cheering mass of exuberance looking for Jay. I saw no sign of him, which was fine with me for I was well on my way to becoming the most famous gee-tar man in Mosca, Colorado. Finally the same two musicians were getting antsy. "Are we done yet?" one of them protested.

Annoyance robbed the handsome from my face. "What's the matter with you guys?" I snapped back, determined to make these grunts earn every penny of the $20 dollar bill I promised them for this gig, "We've only been playing for four hours!"

"Whoa - like - take it easy dude," the Deadhead Logger drummer said, "was just joking. Could we at least get - like - a drink of water?"

I reminded him of the "no-drinking-on-stage" rule. Just then, Cathy - Jay's wife - walked by. "Hey girl," I called over to Cathy. "Have you seen Jay around?"

"You mean you don't know?" She pointed way out in the pond near the back fence. Most of my crowd, in fact, had moved over there and were staring in the water.

And there was Jay suspended peacefully in the pond with just enough of his head above water to be able to see and breathe. He was absolutely still, save for the occasional blink of an eye. That one snaggle tooth was curled outside his lip. Another gator was floating nearby wearing Jay's safari hat.

"Ever since he got his new tooth," she said, "he'll just float like that for hours. I have a hard time getting him to come in the house."

"Actually, I'm worried about Jay," she sighed. "He seems to have lost his appetite. He never wants me to cook him a hot meal any more."

-- Raiford Starke is a Seminole Tribune columnist. No one else will run his columns.

© August 8, 2000, The Seminole Tribune