John Godey - The Snake

Thereupon, a police lieutenant who had come out of the precinct to watch the proceedings issued a warning to the effect that the city ordinance pertaining to unleashed dogs, and the fine appertaining thereto, would be strictly enforced.

He was barely heard over the roars of approval for Mrs. Reginald Campbell and the barking of the assembled dogs.

But Mrs. Campbell herself responded to this threat later in the evening when she was interviewed for television at her home. Photographed in her living room, surrounded by her standard poodle, her Airedale, her two German shepherds, and her miniature schnauzer, she offered the following stratagem: "If a policeman attempts to hand you a summons, simply say,

'Sorry, officer, my dog accidentally slipped its leash."'

When Mrs. Campbell's remarks were brought to the attention of a police official, he said, "The law doesn't make any distinction between dogs that are deliberately set free and dogs that become free by accident. All owners of dogs that are off the leash will receive summonses."

The following day, at eleven o'clock in the morning, some four hundred people and six hundred dogs of the most diverse breeds had gathered at the Bowling Greens. Holding her standard poodle, her Airedale, her two German shepherds, and her miniature schnauzer on a fiveleashed rein, lifting her voice above a concerted din of barking, whining, snarling, snorting, and whimpering dogs, Mrs. Campbell offered her salutatory address.

"Welcome, dog lovers of the City of New York. I am deeply touched by this tremendous response to my television appeal. I know that you share with me the conviction that our beloved pets, left to their own devices, will generously ferret out the slimy creature which has made our beloved park an unsafe haven in this most trying time for all of us…

She paused as a phalanx of policemen, led by a lieutenant, pushed their way toward her through the crowd. The lieutenant spoke to her, but his words were inaudible because of the booing of the crowd, which also served to incite a fresh outburst from the dogs. The lieutenant addressed the crowd, which overrode his voice with even louder booing. The lieutenant spoke to Mrs. Campbell, who nodded graciously and held up her hand to the crowd, which presently fell quiet.

"Dear friends," Mrs. Campbell said. "The officer has asked me if he might be permitted to say a few words to you."

The booing started up again, interspersed with shouts of "No! No!" One of Mrs. Campbell's shepherds mounted her miniature schnauzer. The schnauzer snapped at the shepherd and forced it to dismount. Mrs. Campbell yanked at her reins, and her five dogs were pulled off balance into a struggling bunch.

"In the true spirit of democracy we will allow the lieutenant to have a few words," she shouted, "and then we will go about our business as if he had not spoken."

Wild cheers from the crowd. A toy poodle jumped out of its owner's arms and ran madly through the crowd, yipping in a shrill, excited voice. The owner set out after it, calling its name, which was Mon Trosor. The poodle swerved sharply and took off in the direction of the Sheep Meadow.

Mrs. Campbell kept her hand in the air until she had comparative silence.

The lieutenant cleared his throat.

"I realize that you are all acting with the best of intentions…

The crowd jeered. The lieutenant, sweating visibly, went on. "We of the police are duty-bound to uphold the law. I therefore advise you that if your dog is off its leash, you will receive-"

The crowd burst out into laughter and shouts. The lieutenant stopped speaking and appealed to Mrs. Campbell. She shook her head firmly, indicating to the lieutenant that he had had his day in court. The crowd applauded. The lieutenant moved off and joined his fellow officers. Mrs. Campbell held up her hand for quiet.

"Dog lovers, unleash your animals!"

In the course of the next few hours the police issued a summons to everyone holding a dogless leash. Most of the summonses were torn up and thrown away.

In the aftermath of the Day of the Dog, the police estimated there were at least twenty-five dog fights in which blood was drawn, and perhaps eighty more that were broken off by mutual consent or interrupted by owners, several of whom were bitten in the process, some by their own dogs. There were thirty mountings leading to consummated intercourse.

Three squirrels were killed. Six children sustained bites.

One dog suffered a broken rib when it was kicked by a man it had snapped at. Two dogs died of coronary occlusion. Thirty-five dogs collapsed with heat prostration. Four dogs were run over and killed by cars. Damage to shrubs and other plants was called "catastrophic" by the Parks Department. Nineteen dogs were lost; of this number, fourteen were reclaimed by their owners, many of whom were obliged to pay a reward; five, perhaps the victims of kidnapping, were never recovered.

By three o'clock, all dogs were leashed and most had been taken from the park. Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Campbell departed following a brief statement for the television cameras.

"I blame the failure of our pets to find the snake on police harassment.

Now, if you will excuse me, I must go to the vet." She held up the bloody left paw of her Airedale for inspection. "Checkers-I named him after Mr. Nixon's wonderful dog of yesteryear-cut his pad on broken glass. Instead of harassing dog owners, the police should keep vandals who break glass in this once-lovely park out of this once-lovely park."

A television reporter said, "There were hundreds of dogs running free out there today. Yet, not one of them found the snake's trail. How do you explain it?"

"It's not whether you win or lose," Mrs. Campbell said, "but how you play the game."

If three years as a reporter of city news had taught Holly Markham anything at all, it was to take nothing on faith. And so, late in the afternoon, she went around to the Public Library and, sitting in the North Reading Room with a pile of books, compiled notes on the relationship of snake and man from "time immemorial." Her findings not only refuted much of the Reverend's sweeping claim, but overturned a few conceptions of her own.

Rev's assertion (she wrote in her racing shorthand) that snake "symbol of Evil from time immemorial" is pure nonsense. Actually such is case only a lousy two thousand years, and even then only in Western theologies. Fact is, from "time immemorial" man's reaction to snake highly contradictory: worshipped, feared, hated, admired, etc.

Many civilizations, both primitive and advanced, held snake to be deity or semi-deity, e.g.-Australian bushmen regarded (still regard? check out) snakes as sort of water god, make rain fall, help find springs, etc.

Ditto, Hopi Indians, used snakes as go-betweens to plead with rain gods to make rain.

More snake worship: pythons in Africa; king cobra in Burma. Cobra also venerated in India; in old days, Dravidians believed headmen reincarnated as cobras. Mexico: famous Quetzalcoatl, feathered serpent, combination snake and bird, god of civilization, inventor of agriculture, metallurgy, patron of all the arts. ne Poo-bah of animals!

Beginning to sweat, Rev?

More: Babylon: snake symbol for Ishtar, goddess of sexual love.

Okay, snake obvious phallic symbol, ancients knew it before Freud. And not just symbolic, either-in many early pies, snakes shown diddling women.

Greeks and Romans: both used to regard snakes as sacred creatures.

Household pets in Old Rome, everyone who was anyone kept one around the house. Check out if poisonous. Marc Antony referred to Cleopatra, respectfully, as "serpent of the old Nile." Egyptians supposed to have kept snakes in home, too-tamed asps. Check with M. Converse, can poisonous snakes be tamed? Don't check with M. Converse, ulterior motive involved-right?