When I wrestled alligators as part of my summer job during the 1960’s, I soon discovered it required more brain than brawn. These creatures do not possess a high capacity for reasoning, which allowed me run in front of the beast, then slap its jaw, provoking it to open wide its gaping mouth. The eyes, mounted on top of its head ,were thus blocked by its raised upper jaw enabling me to continue unseen to secure its mouth. It worked every time, except on a fateful day during the summer of 1965.

A larger than usual audience had gathered, so I decided to add an extra element of excitement by taking on the same very large and aggressive gator that nearly ripped the hand off the wrestler I had replaced just the previous week. The animal was nearly 7 feet long, and in no mood to be tackled by a scrawny kid whose brain was probably as poorly developed as the reptile’s. Each time I attempted to run in front of him, he used his powerful tail to keep me at bay as he darted back to the pool. After the third failed attempt, I was out of breath with just one last opportunity to gain the upper hand before running out of the strength needed to finish the show. I changed tactics and used a technique I’d heard described, but never observed. It required holding onto the alligator’s tail, pouncing onto its back then grabbling its mouth from the side. By keeping my hand flat, the only damage would be losing some skin, not the entire hand. However, I forgot one small detail. My right thumb was slightly extended and when it moved past the alligator’s eye, he clamped down and embedded his large, sharp teeth into the joint. I reflexively grabbed it’s closed jaw with my left hand.

Even in that moment of near panic, I recognized the irony of the situation. My right thumb , bleeding profusely, was trapped between the gator’s powerful jaws, yet my left hand was preventing him from letting go, and for good reason. I wanted to keep his head pulled back so he couldn’t go into a spin as well as prevent him from grabbing even more of my hand. Eventually, I took the first step to resolve the stalemate by easing my grip, which he thankfully did as well. Within seconds, he was on his way to the pool, and I was headed to the first-aid kit.

The permanent arthritis in my right thumb is a constant reminder of that incident, which happened to provide two important lessons. First, we all need to recognize our limitations before endeavoring to do something that could have serious consequence. In retrospect, I should have waited until I was more experienced to take-on the most aggressive animal in the enclosure. Another, and perhaps even more important lesson is realizing when it’s time to just let go and move on. In the words immortalized in Kenny Roger’s country song, The Gambler; You’ve got to know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away, know when to run. I wish I had heeded that advice when I was 17.