CLOVIS INDEPENDENT (California) 19 August 05 The Iguana man: Clovis reptile enthusiast works to protect creatures he loves (Heather Kulterman)
More than a dozen children sit leaning forward on their crossed legs in the dark, cool, hushed room waiting with eyes fixed on the door.
Any minute now it could happen.
"The Iguana Man" could throw open the door, ushering in the stiff July heat and strange lizards that grew in size and fierceness in their captive imaginations.
"I wonder how big they'll be? Maybe 10 feet long?" a small framed boy says excitedly, shifting his baseball hat further up his forehead.
"Maybe they'll get out of their cages and walk over to us? Maybe they'll bite someone? I hear they're huge," an older boy says aloud.
"OK, now you're freaking me out," a nervous looking little girl nearby says.
A scout is chosen from among the children in the Clovis Area Recreation program at Sierra Vista Elementary to go look for "Iguana Man" and his reptile friends.
A few minutes later, he returns beaming.
"He's here. He's coming."
In through the door comes Clovis resident Wally Smith, 82, his wool hat gingerly on his head and both hands pulling a huge cage on wheels with four sleepy lizards lounging inside.
"The Iguana Man" has arrived.
For years, Smith has been traveling to local schools and programs with his common green -- or big scale -- iguanas, tortoise and other pet reptiles to teach children about the animals he loves and the care they require.
His homemade business card boasts "herpetology hobbyist/specialist" available for "no charge lectures and exhibitions."
To say it is a labor of love may not be putting it clearly enough. Animals and their proper upbringing has been a lifelong passion for Smith and one he wants to pass along.
"We are getting too greedy and we don't take care of the animals in our homes and in the world," says Smith, a self-proclaimed animal conservationist.
"When the animals are gone, so are we. That's the simple truth. No use beating around the bush about it."
Recently, the iguanas moved to a special place in Smith's heart, and they've stayed put ever since.
So fervent is his adoration for his lizards, that when Smith discovered local ordinances banning the possession and transport of "wild animals" (which he was told included iguanas), he didn't rest until he changed the Clovis City Council's mind.
He now has permission to own the lizards -- allowed for private ownership by the California Department of Fish and Game -- and to take them to local classes per city of Clovis code.
"I had been taking them to schools for years before someone told us I wasn't supposed to be transporting the animals," he says with a chuckle.
Eyes wide with wonder and just a little fear, the children listen eagerly as Smith shares his knowledge and three of his iguanas -- Jezebel, Elvira and Oscar -- with them.
Seeming to almost listen along with the children, the 4-foot lizards gaze lazily from their cage as Smith speaks of special foods and temperatures and of the many places iguanas naturally roam.
Like little slumbering dragons, Jezabel and Elvera lay tangled together on a makeshift branch in their cage. Their proud, green heads rest on each other's scaled skin and their attentive eyes are gently shut to rest.
Looking into their faces, full of mystery and ancient times, it isn't hard to find their appeal.
"They have magnificent personalities and such fascinating behaviors, and they're gorgeous animals to work with," Smith says of his beloved iguanas.
"And they can change all the colors of the rainbow."
Since he was a young boy in Indiana, Smith has been drawn to animals.
He can still remember his first pet, a possum he rescued from a nearby field that stayed just a short while -- not even long enough for a name -- before escaping back into the wild.
Animals soon became his career.
Searching for his biological father as a young man, Smith ran off and, well, joined the circus.
He approached a boss with the Cole Brothers Circus saying he needed a moving job while he looked for the father he never really got to know (his grandparents raised him). As it turned out, the circus needed an elephant trainer.
For several years, Smith worked with a 75-year-old female African elephant named Babe and that was just the beginning of his work with exotic animals.
He's had all sorts of pets and many different reptiles. His work with abandoned or unwanted animals led him to the iguana.
Close to five years ago, a local pet shop asked him if he'd like to take home a male they had. After Oscar became a part of the family, Smith learned the shop was going to put the lizard down if no one took it home.
He and Oscar had a rough first few days, but Smith and his wife Ollie found in-depth books on the care of iguanas. Before long, Smith couldn't get enough.
He figures at 81 he is probably the oldest person in the area still caring for iguanas. Some fear the reptiles may be of risk to the very young and the old because of bacteria the animals may carry.
"A lot of people will say I shouldn't be caring for these animals anymore, but I talked to my doctor and he said, 'Wally as long as you keep the cages clean, the animals clean and yourself clean, you'll be fine.' That's what I do," he says.
While his age hasn't stopped him from his reptilian friends, it has stopped him from helping them as much as he'd like to.
"If I were younger, I would love to start an iguana rescue here in the Valley. So many of them end up in bad homes," says Smith, dropping his head and shaking it slightly at the thought.
Wally and Ollie have eight pets now -- four iguanas, one box turtle, one tortoise, one aquatic turtle and a dog -- all of them were unwanted animals.
They've seen it all too often: Animals sold by pet shops that don't even bother to figure out if the lizard is male or female and never work hard to inform the customer of the real work involved. People buying exotic pets -- well, any pet for that matter -- as if they were a purse or toy, something just for fun, and then dumping them once they require too much work.
Since a rescue organization is a bit beyond the spry senior's capabilities now, he makes sure he still gets the word out to the most captive audience -- the children.
Smith loves the looks on the children's faces when they see Oscar's bright yellow eyes or watch Jezabel languidly lull about the cage.
But his visits aren't just for fun. He is actually trying to discourage the majority of the youngsters he meets from running down to the pet store for their own little dragon.
"I usually tell them that until they are at least 12 years old, they shouldn't even think about a pet like an iguana. Even then I wonder how many of them are ready to really treat the animal right," Smith says.
"It's just like having a child," Ollie adds.
"You don't have a baby and then expect it to take care of itself. It's the same with animals, you have to take care of them and that means work."
Smith's seriousness on this subject is evident almost immediately during a presentation. He wastes little time showing off the iguana's cooler habits and features and jumps right into the rigidity of their care from specific types of food to exact temperatures and amounts of space in their habitats.
Even his "Iguana Man Word Find" -- which Smith made himself on the computer -- includes the word "commitment" for children to find in a jumble of other letters and words about reptiles and iguanas. It's part of a packet of games and pictures "The Iguana Man" hands out to the children.
Looking at the stunted, flat end of Zoobee's tail -- damaged when she was neglected -- it's easy to see why Smith is adamant about the work and love needed to care for and take home an animal.
The lack of responsibility, even the unintentional lack of knowledge, can be detrimental, if not deadly, to the animal.
"You don't just feed them. You have to talk to them, train them and spend time with them every day," he says, gently patting his black Chinese pug "Pugsly" on the top of his head.
The proof is in the lizards.
The sight, and perhaps more importantly, smell of a stranger puts a few of the iguanas on edge. Their scaly chests puff up, their eyes dart, their heartbeats visibly quicken and they step back into the shady darkness of their cage.
And then Smith speaks softly to them.
"It's OK Oscar. No one is going to hurt you. Come on, it's OK," he coos to a wandering iguana in a rustic mass of wood and wire cage Smith made for "the kids" as he calls his lizards.
A soft scuttling noise comes from the structure and then from the shade within two bright yellowish eyes emerge and then a pink tongue thrusts out from a rough mouth in a slow cadence.
Hearing a familiar, kind voice and the smell of home, Oscar comes out.
He is safe and he is loved.
The Iguana man: Clovis reptile enthusiast works to protect creatures he loves