EXPRESS-NEWS (San Antonio, Texas) 17 August 05 Reptile Man is the remedy (Cathy Frye)
The birthday girl wore a shimmering blue skirt, glittery tiara and a 100-pound python named Kramer.
The snake, an albino Burmese python, wasn't a fashion statement. No, for the petite, 47-year-old Barb Tomlin, the hefty, speckled Kramer lounging lazily on her shoulders represented a first — and tremendously significant — step in overcoming her terror of all things reptilian.
Barb Tomlin reacts as Gimly, a Ball Python, is placed in her hands.
Just an hour earlier, Tomlin, perspiring and shaky, had been near tears when Jerry Forster, known as Reptile Man on the local birthday party circuit, held out for her inspection a small king snake named Solomon.
"Don't bring it to me!" she cried out, cowering in her chair, as Forster and his colorful snake circulated among the less tentative guests.
"Do I have to touch it?" Tomlin inquired plaintively when Forster approached a second time.
"You don't have to," he replied gently. "But you may."
Normally, Forster can't keep people away from his exotic snakes and reptiles. But then, his usual audience is made up of curious children.
A truck driver during the week, Forster morphs into Reptile Man nearly every weekend, hauling his reptiles from birthday party to birthday party in a maroon Plymouth Grand Voyager. At each gathering, eager children crowd around Reptile Man, eager to hear descriptions of his pets and explanations for puzzling snake behavior.
Mostly, however, they want to hold the snakes and stroke their cool, patterned skins.
"Fear nothing, but respect everything," Forster tells them.
A big mistake?
In the hours before Tomlin's surprise party, Forster frets over how receptive the unsuspecting guest of honor will be — to both his snakes and his words of reassurance.
The event is arranged by Tomlin's friend and walking partner, Sarah Luecke, whose husband, Bud, a local orthodontist, has treated Reptile Man's kids.
Sarah Luecke hopes that an educational reptile presentation might help Tomlin overcome her fears. When the women take their walks, routes often are determined by where snakes might turn up. At the last minute, however, Luecke has an attack of nerves after a phone call from Forster.
He asks if it's OK to bring his sons along. One of the reptiles is pretty big, so it takes several people to "handle" him, Forster explains.
On the other end of the line, Luecke cringes. Oh, I've made a big mistake. She is going to die.
At 7:45 p.m., Forster, his wife and sons Derek and Brandon arrive at a sprawling stone house in Cordillera Ranch, outside Boerne. Hastily, they smuggle several plastic containers, a backpack and duffle bag around the rear of the house, where they line everything up on the back porch.
"Ah, the piece de resistance," Bud Luecke croons at Kramer's plastic box, tugging at the sheet draped over it. "Gotta keep this little fellow covered up."
At 8 p.m., Tomlin's friends escort her outside. Per their instructions, her eyes remain scrunched shut.
"Can I look yet?" she asks.
In response, Forster crouches in front of her and holds out his business card. It reads: REPTILE MAN. Next to these words is a photo of Forster with a few of his pets.
Tomlin stares at the card in horror. "Oh, God, no!" she cries, backing away.
"These are your friends," Forster says, gesturing at the crowd. "And these" — he points at the boxes — "are my friends."
Arwen, a Ball Python, rests on the floor during a birthday party for Barb Tomlin.
Tomlin fans herself. Her eyes are watery. Her knees are shaky. She needs to sit down.
Her friends bring out a chair. And a big wine goblet trimmed with pink, sparkly fuzz.
At first, Tomlin will have nothing to do with the snakes. She deems the reptiles "cute" but shies away from anything long and slithery.
But when Forster pulls out Kim, a Honduran milk snake, she concedes. "I'll touch it. But don't put its face near me."
Forster takes her hand and runs the snake's body across it.
"Aaahhh." She closes her eyes. "OK, that's enough."
She agrees to stroke Clyde, a corn snake. And then she musters up the nerve to hold a ball python. Her friends are amazed. "You've got the most phobic woman in America holding a snake," one marvels.
Meanwhile, a second python is being passed through the crowd. It ends up in the lap of a woman who soon becomes antsy by the snake's fixed stare. Forster's wife, Kelley, notices her discomfort. She beckons son Derek, 19. "Go get the ball python from the lady," she whispers, then adds, "Never mind. Dad's getting it."
Derek Forster helped create Reptile Man. At age 7, he asked for an iguana. And then a snake. These pets rekindled his dad's childhood passion for reptiles.
As the Forsters continued to add to their reptile collection, Jerry's hobby evolved. He began giving presentations to Derek's classmates at school. Then somebody asked if he would do a birthday party. Now, six years later, Forster's becoming well known for his different brand of birthday entertainment.
If he could make a living off this, he would give up his other job in an instant. "It's just his favorite thing in the world," says Kelley Forster, who, though she willingly handles the snakes, doesn't care to watch them dine on small animals during their infrequent mealtimes.
The last snake to make an appearance at the party is Kramer. As Forster and Derek stand before the crowd with Kramer draped across their shoulders, Forster takes questions.
"What," asks one incredulous guest, "does that thing eat?"
"Rabbits," Forster replies matter-of-factly.
Everyone marvels over the snake's size and strength. "If he did not like me, he could take me out, easily," Forster says.
"Why wouldn't he?" someone asks.
"We're not food."
Moments later, to everyone's amazement, Tomlin agrees to help hold up Kramer. Several people whip out cameras. No one will believe this without photographic evidence.
"This has been awesome," Tomlin raves later. "This has been a good thing for me. Jerry, you were awesome."
The Reptile Man nods and Derek grins. Meanwhile, Kramer has worked his head around to Tomlin's wineglass, which now sits on the reptile table.
He swoops closer, knocking the glass over. For Kramer, anyway, the party's officially over.
Reptile Man is the remedy