Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

JOHN L. SMITH: Let's face facts in the case of Roy Horn: Mauling is what tigers do

Now that the U.S. Department of Agriculture has closed its investigation of the Oct. 3, 2003, mauling of illusionist Roy Horn by the Bengal tiger Montecore, and everyone from casino moguls to cabdrivers has weighed in on the subject, I'd like to add my opinion.

It was long overdue.

Not the government report.

The mauling.

Roy fans will be apoplectic, but let's cut through the Vegas PR fog for a moment for a reality check.

In this corner, we have an incredibly powerful carnivore, the product of countless generations of breeding. He's born to hunt, not dazzle the folks from Des Moines. He's born into captivity and is taught to perform tricks nightly before deafening crowds. But somewhere inside, he's still a tiger.

In that corner, we have a nice little guy who loves tigers and would never treat them cruelly, but who has had most of the carnivore-battling cave man bred from his system. He makes a handsome living handling dangerous cats.

Then comes the night the tiger decides to handle him.

For years we have been repeatedly told how happy the large carnivores are in captivity.

Yeah, right. And animals are hopping the fence to break into the zoo.

No matter how comfy its accommodations -- and many would gladly live the life of those animals -- Montecore still isn't roaming free, hunting game, and living the generally solitary life of a tiger.

Like most large wild animals held in captivity, he's never hungry. But I suspect he's bored a lot.

So one night, he gets irritated and starts chewing on one of the men responsible for it all.

Call it Roy rage.

Am I wrong? Maybe.

But my version of events makes more sense than some of the nutty theories that have surfaced. The USDA has concluded that, contrary to some speculation, the tiger didn't receive signals from any animal-rights terrorists in the crowd. Nor did a tourist with big hair set him off.

Think about it. Common house cats that have been bred in captivity for centuries still claw their owners on a regular basis. Sooner or later, the best-trained dog will bite -- or threaten to -- when he's irritated or has his tail pulled.

Should we expect better manners from a Bengal tiger?

It's silly to think so.

I'm no fan of animal acts, but whether using large carnivores for our entertainment is corny and unenlightened isn't the issue. We're talking about what motivated a grown tiger to attack his best human friend, and the fact I had to write that sentence illustrates the problem.

Tigers, even ones given haute cuisine and sensitivity training, love to bite and kill. It's not a character flaw. It's what they do.

Male tigers are known to kill cubs and eat them. That's one way to get out of baby-sitting duty. And they say father knows best.

The fact Siegfried and Roy weren't a two-course meal years ago is a testament to their kindness, skill, and amazing good luck.

Siegfried and Roy have been credited with keeping white tigers from extinction, and their relationships with zoos should prove even to skeptics that their hearts are in the right place. But it's unwise to get too carried away with that conservationist imagery.

They were a damn fine animal magic act, not Marlin Perkins and Jim Fowler.

Although the plotting of their show was superior, and they made millions plying their trade, the tiger routine will always remind me of the circus acts of my youth that featured enormous brown bears in skirts, shuffling to the strains of "Swan Lake."

Putting an amazing carnivore weighing 800 pounds in a tutu doesn't make him a ballerina.

Roy's injuries are terribly sad, and Siegfried and Roy were one of the most popular shows in Strip history. If Steve Wynn hadn't already erected a large statue on the Strip in their honor, they'd surely deserve one.

But all that's beside the point.

We now officially know the tiger wasn't hungry, hypnotized, or distracted by a beehive hairdo. And it wasn't expressing affection by ripping out the throat of his "master."

It was being a tiger.

Montecore's days on the Strip are over.

In the end, like Sinatra, he did it his way.

John L. Smith's column appears Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0295.