ORLANDO SENTINEL (Florida) 07 November 06 When smoke clears, go visit Gatorland (Mike Thomas)
I turned on a morning news show while ironing my shirt, and watched the billowing black smoke engulf the picture tube.
The announcer said something about a Florida attraction called Gatorland. I almost grabbed a bucket of water and headed over.
Save the Jaws!
The Magic Kingdom has Cinderella Castle. Epcot has Spaceship Earth. But both pale in splendor and historical significance to the gaping concrete maw that graces the entrance to Gatorland.
It is the Mouth of the South, the original Gator Chomp.
And there it was, surrounded in a haze of smoke, looking very much like a fire-breathing dragon between breaths.
Gatorland is like its reptile namesake, a living relic from our prehistoric past. Disney was the meteor that destroyed Circus World, JungleLand, Boardwalk and Baseball, the original Cypress Gardens, Six Gun Territory, Six Flags Stars Hall of Fame Wax Museum, Church Street Station, and so on and so forth.
But Gatorland was the dinosaur that not only survived Mickey's impact but thrived. Last year, Gatorland set a record for revenues.
It was started in 1949 by an avid hunter and butcher named Owen Godwin, and was called Florida Wildlife Institute. He made a lake out of a hole that was dug by road builders to get fill dirt. His first star was "Swamp Boy," a 6-foot gator that would come when he called.
Admission was free, with donations taken for animal feed.
Godwin changed the name to Snake Village in the early 1950s, to Gatorland in 1954 and built the trademark jaws entrance in the early '60s. I moved to Kissimmee in 1983, when an equally historic event occurred.
For years, theme parks had promoted jumping dolphins and killer whales. And so the folks at Gatorland thought, "Hey, if they can do it . . . "
At first, chicken carcasses were dangled only a foot over the water so the gators simply had to reach up for them. But then the chickens were raised. Reaching became lunging. They were raised higher. And lunging became jumping.
Gator Jumparoo was born.
Gatorland had produced the world's first performing alligators.
Ripley's Believe It or Not quickly showed up to shoot video.
The next year, a film crew from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom filmed Gatorland gators chomping on a meat-stuffed dummy.
Gatorland recently made USA Today's list of "10 great places to feel dwarfed by kitsch."
Gatorland made national news when it sent crews to capture a wayward alligator named Reggie that was causing panic in Los Angeles, and to rescue a hapless alligator named Harvey that had spent 15 years living in a middle-school basement in New York.
If you have not been to Gatorland, you have not been to Florida. And it's not just the leapin' lizards. It's the gator wrasslin', the moms snapping photos of their kids sitting on the back of a live gator, the antiquated train ride, the goofy Bubbas and their corn-pone jokes. It's so unpolished, so laid-back, so un-Disney.
Gatorland is a time capsule from a better time. So please go when the doors open again to ensure it rises from the ashes.
http://www.orlandosentinel.com/news/columnists/orl-miket0706nov07,0,2464100.column?coll=orl-home-headlines
THE LEDGER (Lakeland, Florida) 07 November 06 Fire Strikes Orlando Attraction - Early-Morning Blaze Damages Famed Entrance, Kills 3 Animals (Travis Reed)
Orlando (AP): A three-alarm fire broke out in one of central Florida's oldest attractions early Monday morning, killing three animals but injuring no one at Gatorland.
The blaze charred the concrete alligator mouth tourists walked through to enter the park - a piece of old Florida that has appeared in movies, magazines and countless tourists' pictures.
Gatorland spokeswoman Michelle Harris said two 8-foot-long pythons kept in a holding pen near the gift shop were dead, as was a 5-foot-long crocodile.
Another crocodile named Mr. O, who was kept in the same area, was feared dead, but was later found alive, she said. He had managed to stay safe by dipping under water in a pond, Harris said.
The other few thousand of the park's animals were kept in pens away from the fire or in enough water to protect them.
The fire, reported at 5:55 a.m., destroyed the park's 7,000-square-foot gift shop, entrance and some administrative offices. Other office space and the places where Gatorland entertainers perform were not damaged.
The park opened in 1949 and attracts about 400,000 tourists each year. It features exhibitions of people wrestling alligators, a "jumparoo" show in which the big reptiles leap for food, and "up close" encounters where guests can hold snakes, scorpions, spiders and birds.
Orange County Fire Battalion Chief Vince Preston said the souvenir store was engulfed in flames when the first crews arrived.
"It had already been through the roof; it was obvious that this was going to be an extended operation," he said.
Preston said it took about two hours to get the blaze under control. It was finally declared out, despite some nagging hot spots, at about 12:30 p.m.
The fire destroyed the park's main entrance and marred its most distinctive feature: a giant, concrete alligator head, whose jaw is now blackened with soot and is full of debris. The mural facade around it, which had just been given a fresh coat of paint in a $1.5 million overhaul, was torn and burnt. The cypress and palm trees lining the outside were singed and limp.
The fire destroyed the park's 7,000-square-foot gift shop and some offices and marred its famous entrance, a giant alligator mouth.
Harris said the giant alligator mouth was still potentially salvageable.
She said officials would try to reopen the park as soon as possible, but it was unclear how quick that may be. They will have to devise another entrance for guests.
http://www.theledger.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20061107/NEWS/611070406/1004