tremendous guilt about his role in it. The animals seemed innocent by contrast, not motivated by elaborate schemes designed to kill others of their own kind. He was especially drawn to the monkeys, to the orderliness of their society and the way they resolved disputes with minimal physical injury. For the first time Sam found himself truly fascinated.
Sam returned to the States and enrolled at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana. He finished a bachelor’s degree in three years, and when I met him was the teaching assistant for the section of introductory zoology to which I was assigned. He had a reputation among undergraduates for a quick temper, a harsh tongue, and being easily annoyed. Particularly by the slow-witted and the ill-prepared. He was meticulous and demanding, but scrupulously fair in his evaluation of student work.
As I got to know Sam I found that he liked few people, but was tenaciously loyal to those he admitted into his small circle. He once told me that, having spent so many years among primates, he felt he no longer fit in human society. The monkey perspective, as he called it, had shown him the ridiculousness of human behavior.
Sam eventually switched to physical anthropology, did fieldwork in Africa, and completed his doctorate. After stints at several universities, he ended up in Beaufort in the early 1970s as scientist in charge of the primate facility.
Though age has mellowed Sam, I doubt that it will ever change his discomfiture at social interaction. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to participate. He does. His seeking the office of mayor proves that. Life just doesn’t operate for Sam the way it does for others. So he buys bikes and wings for flying. They provide stimulation and excitement, but remain predictable and manageable. Sam Rayburn is one of the most complex and most intelligent people I have ever met.
His mayoral honor was at the bar, watching a basketball game and drinking draft beer.
I made the introductions and, as usual, Sam took charge, ordering a refill for himself, Diet Coke for me and Katy, then herding us to a booth at the back of the restaurant.
My daughter wasted no time in confirming her suspicions regarding tomorrow’s plans, then pummeled Sam with questions.
“How long have you directed this primate center?”
“Longer than I care to think about. I worked for someone else until about ten years ago, then bought the damn company for myself. Just about went to the poorhouse, but I’m glad I did it. Nothing beats being your own boss.”
“How many monkeys live on the island?”
“Right now about forty-five hundred.”
“Who owns them?”
“The FDA. My company owns the island and manages the animals.”
“Where do they come from?”
“They were brought to Murtry Island from a research colony in Puerto Rico. Your mom and I both did work there, somewhere back in the early Bronze Age. But they’re originally from India. They’re rhesus.”
“
“Very good. Where did you learn primate taxonomy?”
“I’m a psych major. A lot of research is done using rhesus. You know, like Harry Harlow and his progeny?”
Sam was about to comment when the waitress arrived with plates of fried clams and oysters, boiled shrimp, hush puppies, and slaw. We all concentrated on spooning sauces onto our plates, squeezing lemons, and peeling a starter batch of shrimp.
“What are the monkeys used for?”
“The Murtry population is a breeding colony. Some yearlings are removed and sent to the Food and Drug Administration, but if an animal isn’t trapped by the time it reaches a certain body weight, it’s there for life. Monkey heaven.”
“What else is out there?” My daughter had no reservations about chewing and talking at the same time.
“Not much. The monkeys are free-ranging so they go where they want. They set up their own social groups and have their own rules. There are feeder stations, and corrals for trapping, but outside camp the island is really theirs.”
“What’s camp?”
“That’s what we call the area right at the dock. There’s a field station, a small veterinary clinic, mostly for emergencies, some storage sheds for monkey chow, and a trailer where students and researchers can stay.”
He dipped an oyster in cocktail sauce, tipped back his head, and dropped it in his mouth.
“There was a plantation on the island back in the nineteenth century.” Small drops of red clung to his beard. “Belonged to the Murtry family. That’s where the island gets its name.”
“Who’s allowed out there?” She peeled another shrimp.
“Absolutely no one. These monkeys are virus-free and worth mucho dinero. Anyone, and I mean anyone, who sets foot on the island is cleared through me, and has to have a shitload of immunizations, including a negative TB test within the last six months.”
Sam looked a question at me, and I nodded.
“I didn’t think anyone caught TB anymore.”
“The test isn’t for your protection, young lady. The monks are very susceptible to TB. An outbreak can destroy a colony quicker than you can say jackshit.”
