Constant vigilance, not only in the arena, but out of it, is the trainer’s watchword. Consequently, trainers are a hard-working lot; for it is not only the actual public performances which take up their time. It is necessary to have constant rehearsals, constant lessons to the animals about various things; for it is never wise to try to correct or teach much during a performance, and there is always much to learn and study. Many animals drop off in time, either by sickness or from some other causes, and new animals have to be trained to take their place: this is always done privately, and few ever realize the amount of time and trouble that an animal will sometimes require before he is perfected in one little act.
The ideal animal trainer is a man of superb physique. His eyes are clear, his muscles hard and sinewy, his limbs well grown, his body well developed, and his clean, healthy skin shows the warm blood circulating beneath. He is without blemish physically, and his mental capabilities are good. He knows men as well as animals. He makes a versatile application of that knowledge; he knows the traits, the history, and the tendencies of those animals which form his life study, and on the constant use of that knowledge depends his dominance.
I have always been particularly fortunate in my trainers. From the time when I assumed control of the business in 1881, it has been my good fortune to have intelligent men, who take an interest in and love their profession, and who love their animals and charges.
Edward Deyerling, chief animal trainer at the Chicago Exposition in 1893, received his tuition under me in England in the eighties.
His persistency in practice was remarkable, and while his methods with his animals gained their entire confidence in him, the unearthly hours which he devoted to their education would have told on the vitality of many men of stronger constitution than his. The success he attained was more than well deserved. He was a humane trainer and possessed those good qualities so essential for success in the art of animal subjugation.
He was not killed, as is generally believed, but died a natural death several years ago.
The wild animal performances of 1893 were small affairs compared with the exhibitions of to-day, but his performance with five male lions gave the World’s Fair visitors much to talk about, and secured for him a great reputation in this country, and I am naturally proud that he began his career in one of my establishments.
But I am prouder still of a lion-trainer who is with me now, Captain Jack Bonavita, who has trained no less than twenty-seven grown lions to perform in the arena at the same time. That this has been the work of years it is hardly necessary to state; but the patience, courage, judgment, and terrible nerve-strain necessary to reach this climax no one can ever realize except those who have watched him carefully week after week, month after month, and year after year.
There were times when it seemed as though he would certainly have to abandon his task; there was so much to contend with, so many difficulties to face and overcome, and such bitter disappointments. But Bonavita is a man of iron will, and when once he has made up his mind to do a thing, he never rests until he has accomplished it thoroughly.
When he first made his appearance at the Pan-American Exhibition in 1901, his entrance with the twenty-seven lions was so impressive that for a few seconds after the first flare of the band the silence was intense. Few will forget that incident. The gates at the back of the arena opened, and slowly and majestically out walked twenty-seven kings of the forest, and at the unspoken order of one man,—for he never speaks to them when performing,—each one took his special place on a certain pedestal, and went through all the various evolutions and acts in which he had been so carefully trained. The sight of this one man moving quietly about among all the lions made a deep impression upon many people.