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Captured in Clark County, alligator helps teach kids about reptiles

By Andrea Damewood
Published: October 26, 2010, 12:00am
3 Photos
Richard Ritchey, the &quot;Reptile Man,&quot; gives Maggie Hernandez, 7, an opportunity to hold D.B. Cooper.
Richard Ritchey, the "Reptile Man," gives Maggie Hernandez, 7, an opportunity to hold D.B. Cooper. Cooper, an American alligator, was captured in a Salmon Creek pond last year. Photo Gallery

CORNELIUS, Ore. — D.B. Cooper was hiding in plain sight.

Tucked into a blue plastic container Thursday, the former Clark County fugitive waited quietly for Richard Ritchey — better known as the Reptile Man — to give him his time in the spotlight before a captive second-grade audience at Echo Shaw Elementary School in Cornelius, Ore.

As Ritchey set up his next unveiling, the kids, seated “crisscross applesauce,” slowly inched as close as the Reptile Man would let them.

Out came D.B., with what could best be described as a smile on his face, to gasps, shrieks and the instant collapse of any semblance of order. Eight-year-olds clamored to get closer — or get away — from the sudden arrival of a 3-foot-long American alligator.

The gator accepted small hands running over his scales, and he performed a trick with Ritchey, who held him in one hand, eye-to-eye, before blowing softly on his nose. D.B. slowly reclined on his back, in an apparent trance. Ritchey also grilled the class on the difference between alligators and crocodiles, and even had D.B. wave his front leg to the crowd.

“Was that too scary?” Ritchey asked as D.B. was returned to his box.

“No! It was awesome!” came an excited call from the crowd.

It’s been quite the year for this young alligator: Captured in a Bonneville Power Administration-owned pond near Salmon Creek last July, he had been on the lam for who knows how long; likely an illegal pet set free.

His story ensnared the interest of Clark County residents, who were tasked with naming the reptilian refugee in a contest in The Columbian. They landed on D.B. Cooper, after the infamous 1971 plane hijacker who parachuted from a plane over Amboy with $200,000 in ransom money, never to be seen again.

After spending some time at the Humane Society for Southwest Washington, the newly monikered D.B. Cooper then went to the House of Reptiles in Oregon. There, he unfortunately shared a tub with some turtles who decided to make a meal out of the last three inches of his tail.

That’s where D.B. Cooper met the Reptile Man.

“I happened to stop by the store, saw (the owner) had the alligator there and I talked him out of it,” said Ritchey, who has been keeping reptiles for close to 40 years and has been touring classrooms and parties with his cold-blooded menagerie for about 20 years. “He was a mess; I kinda felt bad for him.”

Now, he’s a veteran of over 100 shows, and shares his life with four other alligators and dozens of other creatures at Ritchey’s home in Colton, Ore. He eats small rats and mice, and gets his necessary 12 hours of heat every day.

“I kept his name D.B. Cooper and I tell the kids the story too, of how he came to be,” Ritchey said.

D.B. — along with several other reptiles — all serve as a lesson to leave exotic reptile keeping to professionals, he said. Ritchey also owns a Tegu lizard that once was picked up by animal control officers in Vancouver, and another gator left behind in an apartment in Beaverton, Ore.

Ritchey, who is licensed by the Oregon Department of Agriculture to keep his animals, does more than 500 shows a year, traveling from Medford, Ore., to Seattle.

Echo Shaw Elementary is a stop every year, a compelling part of a unit on reptiles, teacher Jinnie Hartzler said.

“Just being up close and personal makes it great — all I have are posters,” Hartzler said. “They get to touch and see them.”

D.B. Cooper is among 16 other reptiles in a show. He is a second-string gator, behind one that’s more of a veteran and is a bit larger, Ritchey said. Clark County’s own alligator — obviously a free spirit — resisted his role as show reptile at first, but has since grown calm as he adjusted to his new life.

And he’s got a long life of performing ahead of him: Ritchey estimates his age at 3 to 5 years old, with an average life span in captivity of 75 years.

Andrea Damewood: 360-735-4542 or andrea.damewood@columbian.com.

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