George “Mac” B. COON

COON

Posted By: Betty Hootman-Volunteer
Date: 2/23/2014 at 17:54:31

FAIR VISITORS TO MISS MAC AND SAMMY

The following item about George B. Coon, a resident of Farmington before his death in ’43, and his pet deer, Sammy, appeared in the August 15, 1946 issue of the “Iowa Conservationist”.

George B. Coon, or Mac as he was familiarly called by thousands, and one of the most colorful features of the Fish and Game Exhibit, will not be there this year. Mac, father of the State Fair Fish and Game Exhibits, keeper of the animals, early day game warden, father confessor of modern conservation officers, spinner of tall tales, lover of life, and showman extraordinary, is dead. He died “in harness” in Farmington State Park at the age of eighty.

During the last prewar fair, while holding an armful of deodorized skunks and entertaining a group of wide-eyed youngsters with a running commentary of harmless yarns and wisecracks, Mac was interrupted by a helper with information that the wolves were fighting. Leisurely replacing the skunks, Mac separated the snarling wolves and turning to his helper, said, “Paul, I just live for the State Fair. If they ever quit the fair exhibit I think I will call it quits, too.”

December 7 the Japs attacked Pearl Harbor and the army took over the State Fairgrounds. In 1942 the fair was cancelled and when fair time rolled around in ’43 with no fair coming up, Mac Coon called it quits for good.

In all Mac’s thirty-five fair years, employees recall on a single instance when harsh words escaped from his lips. The provocation was never repeated.

Mac had arranged for a special showing of his animals to a group including several high school teachers, one night after the building was closed to the public for cleanup. It was his mistake to let other employees know of his plans in advance, and, in place of his harmless skunk, the boys substituted an animal with a full range of artillery. All went well with the tour until the final demonstration, handling Mac’s pet skunks. Then it happened.

Mac’s raving passion was a fearful and wondering thing and it was the inspiration for the best kept secret in the annals of fish and game.

Even now, the vision of this faithful public servant setting outside the building whetting a hook-nosed knife designed for pruning peach trees is too vivid to reveal ‘who dunnit’.

Sammy called it quits, too, shortly after Mac’s death.

Sammy was the magnificent, buck white-tailed deer that ruled the outdoor deer pen at the fairgrounds for almost ten years. Sammy, an orphan, was started on a bottle by Mac when the fawn’s spindly little legs were still too weak to support his emaciated body. Sammy broke his neck in a suicidal rage in 1943 when a handler attempted to move him into a new deer range.

Sammy, like Mac, was a showman extraordinary, and the two seemed to have a gentlemen’s agreement, for when Mac was putting on his act Sammy remained in conspicuous. When Sammy had the floor, Mac would pout a little but never try to steal the show.

It was when the two were playing a duet that keeper, deer, and visitors were most happy. Possibly the best remembered of their acts was the tobacco chewing skit.

At feeding time Mac would enter the deer yard, place mash in the trough, and busily engage in cleaning up the pen. Sammy, meanwhile would daintily dispose of his supper. When finished, the deer would approach the walking man and nudge him several times, none to gently in the back with the curve of his well formed antlers. Apparently perplexed, Mac would turn around, remove his hat and scratch his head with one hand, with the other reach in his pocket for a plug of tobacco and take a hit. With the Amazing speed of wild things, Sammy would bite off a sizeable chunk of the plug, still in his keeper’s hand. When Mac scolded the animal for his theft, Sammy would look up into his face with sober, big-eyed attention and solemnly chew his stolen tobacco in perfect imitation of the old man.

The pantomime invariably closed when Mac would turn and wink at his now large human audience, open the deer yard gate, and step out. But Sammy always had the last word. Looking straight at Mac’s retreating back he would pucker up his lips and blow the small boy’s raspberry, “Phut-t-t-t.”

Mac and Sammy, we miss you.

Note: Tri-County News, Farmington, IA, Page 4

Source: Scrapbook of Unknown Origin, Page 56