Monkey Man

In a previous life, roughly 40 years ago, my friend and I bought a Capuchin Monkey from a pet store for $50. This was before laws banning their import, and before I had half a brain. Squeaker, as he came to be called, was a child of about 3 years, and completely wild. For the first few weeks he would shriek, if approached, and give a serious bite if his warning was not heeded. In time, he tamed down, and would ride around on our shoulders or follow us like a pet cat. He lived in a cage in the living room, but would have the run of the room when we were home. He loved to go back and forth on the curtain rod above the front window. Luckily, the duplex was furnished by Goodwill Industries, because the destructiveness of a busy little monkey can be considerable. The folowing pictures were from negatives I recently discovered and developed.

It turns out that Capuchin Monkeys can live for at least 60 years. They mature slowly, like humans, and are very social animals that are active and need attention during daylight hours. All good reasons why they should never be taken from their native groups in the jungle. They are native to South America and have a prehensile tail.

Squeaker and Ginger bonded during a five day road trip in a VW Bug. Squeaker rode on my shoulder while I drove, occasionally wrapping his tail around my eyes making Ralph Nader's dreaded Volkswagon a truly suicidal machine.

Ginger didn't know what to make of the little sub human, but tolerated the monkeying around quite well.

She even allowed for dental hygiene exams.

Two monkeys having a siesta on the front porch.

Squeaker had a special affection for women of all ages. One time he decided to take a tour of the neighborhood by pushing open a screen. I looked up to see him sitting on the fence. Ordinarily this wouldn't have been a problem, but this time he would not come and jump on my shoulder as usual. I followed him around for two hours, even going into strangers' garages. Finally, he went up a skinny cypress tree to the roof of a two story motel. He just sat up there, arms folded on his chest, grinning down at me. After at least an hour of pretending to come down, then going right back up again, I remembered that he had a crush on a pretty young woman who lived next door to us. I went and asked her if she would mind coming down the street to see if Squeaker would come down for her. When she approached the motel, he came down and jumped into her arms. He sensed that I was angry about the situation and refused to get close to me for a few days, even though I would never have tried to reprimand him. There are other stories I could tell, but you get the picture.

On a trip to Monterey, we met the hurdy-gurdy man on Monterey's Fisherman's Wharf. He had two Capuchins and would alternate working them on the wharf taking coins from tourists. The monkeys wore bell bottom pants, caps, and vests. The hurdy-gurdy man said that if we ever needed a home for Squeaker, he would be glad to take him. After about two years we started thinking that Squeaker would be happier living with other monkeys and having the stimulus of being out working the wharf two or three times a week. With mixed feelings we drove him up to his new home which was a large bedroom overlooking Monterey Bay. He had a jungle gym, a TV, and playmates. We knew we had made the right choice. When I asked Mr. Monroe how he could let his monkeys chew up the window sills, he said that they had paid for the house. Apparently, the image of the down and out hurdy-gurdy man is not always true.

I visited Squeaker a year later and he immediately jumped on my head and playfully tugged my hair. Mr. Monroe said that Squeaker had yet to be that friendly to him. Gomez, one of the other monkeys, interrupted the reunion by coming up to me and punched me in the groin.

I visited Monterey Wharf about fifteen years later with Elaine and Mr. Monroe was there with one of his other monkeys. He said that Sqeaker was doing well, but had the day off. He gave me a snapshot (below) of Squeaker at work.

I wonder how Squeaker is today, if he is still alive, working, or retired. This is a very condensed version of life with a monkey. I have stories still engraved into my mind of the ridiculous situations he got into, and his ability to analyze minds. See you next time!