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Willie B.'s remarkable life

By Vicki Croke, Globe Staff, 02/05/2000

here is hardly a better - or bigger - symbol of hope than Willie B.

Once called the loneliest gorilla in the world, Willie B. lived through unrelenting adversity for decades and then, in his final years, enjoyed a remarkably rich life. The 41-year-old western lowland gorilla died Wednesday in his sleeping quarters at Zoo Atlanta.

Lonely no more, the aged gentleman of the zoo's gorilla population was surrounded by members of his gorilla bond group and by the humans who had grown to love him.

His story demonstrates the remarkable resilience of animals and it also tells the tale of the transformation of zoos. It would be anthropomorphic to say Willie B. had a forgiving nature, or that he exuded charisma. But there is no doubt that this highly intelligent and expressive being captured the imaginations and hearts of the people who flocked to see him in what is now considered one of the best zoos in the country.

I was among Willie B.'s admirers and was able to visit the great gorilla several times. He was always impressive. Separated by a thick pane of safety glass, you could sit right next to him and be dwarfed by his magnificent frame - 450 pounds of muscle covered in a dense black coat that shimmered gray in a saddle across his back. In the world of gorillas, the silverback is the boss.

And it was easy to see why. Willie B. could stand 6 feet tall and his neck measured 40 inches around.

Once, in 1981, an Atlanta TV station gave Willie B. a suitcase in order to re-create a popular luggage commercial that showed an ape pounding - but not breaking - the product. Within minutes, Willie had ripped the two sides of the suitcase from the hinges. He then filled one half with water and drank from it.

Yet he appeared the image of a gentle giant as he sat close to the glass and the people on the other side of it.

"He was a people guy," says zoo spokeswoman Gail Eaton. "He loved people and loved to make eye contact. On rainy, cold days, when there weren't many visitors, he'd sit near the viewing area and, I swear, he looked crestfallen if no one came around."

I was so taken with him that I began the first chapter of my first book with his story. There was such a happy ending to the grim beginning.

Willie B. was captured in Africa while still an infant. From what we know of the bloody animal trade of the time, it is likely that several members of his group, probably including his mother, were killed in order to secure him.

Separated from the bonds of his family group and removed from the rich, lush forests of Cameroon, Willie B. landed in Atlanta in 1961. And for the next 27 years, this social primate lived alone in a concrete box with bars - and a television set. He never saw another gorilla. He would lie on his side, legs crossed, one arm thrown over his head, staring blankly at the crowd. Zoogoers would often jeer or scream at him in a misguided attempt to get him up and moving.

Visiting gorillas in these "hard" zoo settings was, according to zoo director Terry Maple, "like visiting a mental ward: The occupants were seen as crazy and self-destructive."

And, indeed, Willie B.'s home was listed as one of the worst zoos in the country. In 1984, it lost its accreditation. Life was as barren and uneventful as it could be. Days, months, and years passed by in unimaginable monotony.

Then, in the mid-'80s, Maple, a primatologist, became the zoo's director, with a mandate to turn things around. He was determined to create a "soft," natural environment so that Willie B. could socialize and forage much as gorillas do in the wild.

A full 10 percent of Zoo Atlanta's acreage was devoted to a new gorilla enclosure at a cost of $4.5 million. Maple moved mountains for the gorilla: 26,000 tons of soil shifted, 3,500 shrubs planted.

And so, on a muggy morning in May 1988, Willie B.'s life forever changed. The gate separating his indoor enclosure from the outside world opened. Willie B. cautiously emerged, exploring trees, grass, and sky until the novel sensation of tiny raindrops drove the massive animal inside.

Soon things got even better. The next year, Willie B. was carefully introduced to female gorillas. No one knew how he would react. An animal raised in such unnatural conditions might, in fact, turn violent at the sight of his own kind.

At first, the smaller but more socially advanced female gorillas dominated Willie B. But he caught on fast and just two months after meeting Kinyani, he copulated for the first time.

Willie B.'s impoverished life became enriched. Companionship, sunshine, and birdsong replaced solitude, fluorescent lighting, and the echo of clanking metal doors.

The self-assured ape went on to father five babies at Zoo Atlanta: Kudzoo, Olympia, Sukari, Kidogo, and Lulu.

He lived much like a wild gorilla. He foraged for food outdoors, dominated a small group, and was even able to watch other gorilla groups in nearby enclosures.

But at 41, Willie B. was one of the oldest gorillas in captivity and the oldest captive male in the United States to be producing offspring. Renowned gorilla researcher Dian Fossey believed the animals could live well into their 50s, but that figure is still a matter of some conjecture. The oldest captive gorilla, Massa, lived to be 54 in the Philadelphia zoo.

Since January, Willie B. had been off exhibit in the care of the zoo's veterinary staff after being diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, a serious heart condition that reduces the ability of the heart to contract.

The condition is not curable, but it is treatable, and this past week, Willie B. seemed to be responding to care. "His lungs had cleared, and he was alert," Eaton says. "We thought that the big old boy just might make it."

But on Wednesday, Willie B. fell asleep and never woke up.

Because he was the most popular animal in the zoo, and known across the country, the outpouring from the public and the attention from the media have been overwhelming, Eaton says. Today Zoo Atlanta is holding a public tribute to Willie B. with free admission to the zoo.

Willie B.'s remarkable journey will end where it began. His ashes will be flown to Africa, and scattered in the forest where he once ran free.

In lieu of flowers, the zoo requests that contributions be made to the Willie B. Memorial Fund, 800 Cherokee Ave., Atlanta, GA 30315. The fund will support primate care and research at Zoo Atlanta and in Africa.

This story ran on page F01 of the Boston Globe on 2/05/2000.
© Copyright 2000 Globe Newspaper Company.