Gator Baiter

Where Debbie Clayton’s father got the alligator, I don’t recall. What I do remember is the white Styrofoam ice chest that was carried into the room and place on a chair at the front of the class.

Whether Mrs. Damm said, “Don’t touch,” or if I ignored her – I don’t know. But my curiosity was such that I jus’ couldn’t help myself.

Maybe because the gator was only a foot-long – or perhaps it’s hiss wasn’t a deterrent enough, I reached right in the chest and touched the little reptile on the nose.

That was all it took! In an instant it had collapsed its toothy jaws around my right pointer finger and moved into what I would later learn was a “death roll,” designed to kill its prey. I felt a wave of searing pain wash over and through me.

I didn’t scream though as I was more afraid of Mrs. Damm than the gator.

After flopping about the chest for what felt an eternity, the beast let go of my finger. It was ripped up and bleeding badly.

Mrs. Damm grabbed my arm and raised it over my head. I actually thought I was about to get another paddling in front of the class at this moment.

However, she had mercy on me and rushed me to the sink to rinse the bite in cold water and wrap it as tightly as possible in a bunch of paper towels. Then she sent me to the office, where Mrs. Eunice Zwierlein had to tend to my wound.

Within in minutes she had called Mom, who called someone else to come get me and take me up to the base infirmary. There, the medic-on-duty bandaged me up and gave me a tetanus shot for good measure then sent me home.

So yeah, I can say I was bit — or even stretch the truth a bit and claim I was attacked — by an alligator. But either way the finger nail on my right pointer finger has never grown the same since.