Noah's Helpers

Panorama July 13, 1980

The Sunday Herald

By Paul Gores

As mile spread across Garon Fyffe's face as he turned the ignition key of his cluttered Dodge station wagon.

 It didn't seem to matter that a foul, animal odor was pouring into the front seat from the wagon of the car. He was feeling too good to let it bother him.

 Neither his wife Jerilyn nor 3-year-old daughter Becky seemed very disturbed by the smell as they sat in the back seat. They kept cheery vigilance over the source of the smell –cages holding four feisty baby raccoons and a nervous, dirty-faced opossum.

 As Fyffe shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb, the air forced the musty odor out the back window, leaving an invisible trail smelling something like the bear cage at a zoo. And Fyffe, now able to inhale and exhale freely, began to speak. His words explained the contented expression on his face.

 "You know that makes me feel good," he said. "Those are my kind of people, people who choose the humane option. They could have lit a fire in the fireplace and killed those baby 'coons. Now we'll take them home and take care of them until they're old enough to be on their own. Then we'll take them into the woods and let them go. That 'possum, we'll let him out along the way."

 It was Fyffe's first stop of the night as the proprietor of ABC (Animals, Bees, and Chimneys) Humane Animal Removal and Relocation Service, Wheeling, and everything had gone smoothly.

 The four baby raccoons that had been living in the basement fireplace of a home in Skokie for six weeks were removed by Fyffe's gloved hand with nothing more than some snarling and snapping. The opossum, a victim of circumstances who had wandered into a sardine-baited cage set for the mother raccoon, would simply be released into a nature area enroute to Fyffe's next job, a raccoon infested attic in Lincolnshire.

 "That was pretty easy," Fyffe said. "The only thing I was worried about is if the mother was home. They can get real mean when they're defending their babies. I had one 'coon once that bent up a cage like a pretzel."

 But Fyffe, 38, doesn't let the hazards of his job deter his enthusiasm about it. As a self-styled right-to-life advocate for suburban animals, Fyffe travels from job to job with the spirit of a freedom fighter, saving the life of one hapless creature after another. The fear of raccoons that bite, skunks that squirt, bees that swarm and hornets that sting is offset by a greater force – Fyffe's love for nature and his desire to protect nature's wildlife.

 "I love doing this," Fyffe explains. "To me, this is a real adventure."

 There aren't too many who feel that way about close encounters with such critters. Fyffe, however, is different than most people.

 Fyffe is the kind of guy who would rather be sprayed by a skunk (and has been several times) than leave it to die in the hands of somebody who considers it a pest. He feels guilty if he accidentally hurts an animal that he is removing. He admits that a story depicting cruelty to animals can bring him to tears. He won't even kill a hornet unless it is absolutely necessary. He prefers to give them to gardeners who know the value of hornets controlling insects harmful to fruit and vegetables.

 If wild animals could build monuments to their heroes, a statue of Garon Fyffe probably would stand side-by-side with Noah.

 Fyffe's love for nature and wildlife is born of an unusual sort of respect for the creatures of the wild. They belong in the world just as humans belong in the world, he says. And since they are considered pests only when they are out of their environment instead of killing them.

 "The first thing people think to do when they have an animal living in their chimney or under their porch is to kill it," Fyffe says. "And really, that is the last thing they should think to do."

 Fyffe know the problem of misplaced animals is an increasingly serious one in the suburbs. As open spaces and wooded areas are gobbled up by buildings and parking lots, the wildlife of Cook County – raccoons, skunks, opossums, groundhogs and rabbits in particular – frequently wanders into the sprawling suburbs, where they find virtual banquets awaiting them in garbage cans and dumpsters.

 Once they decide to stay near their food source, chimneys begin to replace hollow logs as winter homes and nesting spots for young raccoons; porches and caverns under concrete foundations become the abodes of skunks; backyard gardens become convention centers for rabbits.

 At the same time, bees, hornets and wasps find that cracks in suburban foundations make superb fortresses for their hives and nests. Or they may choose tree branches in the yard, too often the one just above Junior's swing.

 They must be dealt with, and basically, there are two options – kill them or remove and relocate them. That is where Fyffe comes in.

 "I try to offer people the humane option," he says.

 "Everybody has all kinds of pet ways to get rid of animals," Fyffe explains. "But if you start a fire in the chimney all that's going to do is cause lung damage to the baby raccoons or burn them alive. If you pour ammonia in, all that's going to do is blind them or give them lung damage. And in the end, all you're going to end up with is 20 pounds of rotting meat in your fireplace."

 Fyffe's whole life revolves around nature. The animal removal service is a private venture he performs on evenings and his days off. His full-time job is with the Cook County Forest Preserves as a nature center naturalist. He holds a degree in environmental geography and minor in biology from Northeastern Illinois University. When he is not working at the nature center or saving animals, he is lecturing inner city children on nature or helping Boy Scouts win environmental merit badges.

 Fyffe delights in telling inner city youths about his solution to a problem that many of them are familiar with –rats. The city should release bull snakes into rodent-infested neighborhoods, he tells the kids, because the snakes like nothing better than rats for dinner. And unlike rodent control workers, they can slither into the sewers and crevices that rats hide out in. What's more, Fyffe says, the snakes are no threat to humans.

 "I'm just fascinated with all aspects of nature," he says. "If I find a book or an article on some aspects of nature I've just got to read it."

 His expertise is more than hand on some jobs – it is a necessity. Yet there are times when his work catches up with him – like recently when he was sprayed on the legs by four baby skunks while he was removing them from beneath a suburban porch.

 "I got some funny looks from people the next day on the sidewalk," he says. "It takes a while for the smell to wear off. It's a good thing they weren't adults. That smell takes forever to go away."

 Another time Fyffe was hanging out the window of house plagued with hornets under its siding. He miscalculated the location of the nest, and when he pried off the board, hundreds of hornets were staring him point blank in the face. He received a score of stings that pushed his temperature over 100 degrees and kept him in bed for four days. Now, when removing hornet and wasp nests, he wears protective clothing that shields most of his body from their fiery poison.

 Bee sings are nothing new to Fyffe, either. He has been stung countless times by bees, yet they remain among his favorite creatures because of their precision and chivalry.

 Only as a last resort will Fyffe consider exterminating any animal, bee, wasp or hornet he is called on to get rid of. And he says the price for his work, usually somewhere between $50 and $150 depending on the time and the type and number of animals involved, is less than many exterminating companies.

 Like the wildlife he loves, Fyffe feels most at home when he is surrounded by nature. He lives in a Wheeling house secluded from its surroundings be trees and acres of grass. Fauna roam freely on his lawn and caged animals, those he has captured as part of his job, encircle the garage. Some of them, such as the raccoons, must be released at least 20 miles from where they were taken or they instinctively will find their way back to their old home.

 "We have quite a nature center of our own back here," Fyffe says.

 Jerilyn is his right-hand woman in the business, making sure he has a supply of nets and cages handy for each job. She stands by him with a net during each animal job, ready to scoop up any critters that break free and start to run.

 His daughter Becky, who accompanies Fyffe and his wife on their animal rescues, probably is as well versed as most high school students in plant and animal identification. Fyffe jokes that Becky has decided to be a whale trainer when she grows up, undoubtedly because she hears her father speak so frequently about his fascination with whales.

 "It's really become a family project," Fyffe says. "There's a need for it and it's something I can do in my spare time. If I can make some money on this, fine. But I'm satisfied if it just pays for itself. I just don't want to see people needlessly killing animals.