Merry Christmas, Mr. Jiggs!

In 1986 I started working in the video retail business. Our company had three video rental stores and a popular mail-order business. That Christmas, the owner threw a lavish holiday party at a big restaurant in northeast Philadelphia. Paper invitations went out to all the employees featuring an artist's rendition of King Kong on top of the Empire State Building. At first I just figured it was symbolic of the thousands of classic movies we had in our catalogue. But as I and my fellow employees would soon find out, that great ape would make a personal appearance that none of us would ever forget. Following dinner and some short speeches by management, the entertainment for the evening had arrived. As we all sat at round tables digesting our Christmas feast, the doors to the ballroom swung open and in skated a chimpanzee wearing a tuxedo. We all did double-takes as the monkey named, Mr. Jiggs rolled across the floor doing tricks at the request of his trainer. Jiggs danced with a few frightened female employees and drank a can of Pepsi all to the audience's amusement. The monkey seemed old, but was actually only 26 years old. Following his performance, Mr. Jiggs saved his most impressive trick for those of us watching the trainer being paid by the company's owner. With only a nod from his master, Mr. Jiggs -still wearing his roller skates- threw his tux coat over his shoulder and grabbed his suitcase full of props and started to climb a set of stairs towards the exit. As we eagerly followed the chimp up the staircase, we watched the frightened customers stare with amazement at the site of the hardworking chimp rolling through the lobby. In the end Mr. Jiggs went to his trainer's car, openened the door, sat in the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt. The trainer got in and drove away with the primate entertainer who I was convinced was actually a midget in a costume. But many years later I was surprised to learn that Mr. Jiggs was in fact a real chimpanzee, only he was a she. Mr. Jiggs came to the United States from Africa in 1965. With her front teeth pulled and an electric shock device under her clothing, she worked shows as an artificial human until her recent retirement. Sadly, Mr. Jiggs had passed away in July of 1995 at the age of 33, about half a chimp’s life expectancy. Jiggs was dropped off at a home for retired performing animals outside Los Angeles by her lifelong trainer and companion, who never came back. The cause of death was undetermined, but a worker for the sanctuary for chimps called it “a broken heart.” Once while watching late-night TV I saw one of those infomercials for a set of Ed Sullivan videos featuring clips from the famed variety program. To my surprise there was Mr. Jiggs and her trainer performing for Ed some of the same routines she had at our Christmas party. There was something nostalgic yet tragic about seeing the young chimp at the beginning of her showbiz career. I wondered if she had any idea where it would all end some 30 years later. Did she really feel a loss for a trainer who had shocked her into submission to make money from her novelty? Or was it the loss of a routine that had been part of her life for so long that she so missed. I supposed we'll never know.