In December 1931, a most curious guest was in our Portland environs. A really big, 7-ton guest. His name was Tusko, and he gave himself a memorable Christmas present.
Billed as “Biggest Beast That Walks the Earth,” Tusko was an Asian elephant that had toured the nation with circuses and developed a really bad reputation. Tusko would often run free, strike his handlers, and was regarded at times as completely unmanageable. He was covered in chains – his legs in cross hobbles, martingales on his tusks and something like a chain basket shrouding his head and trunk. Eventually abandoned in Salem, Tusko “the much unwanted elephant” was brought to Portland in late November of 1931 and temporarily placed in a rundown and ramshackle workshop on East Main and Water streets, in the shadow of the Hawthorne Bridge.
Tusko’s handlers set up shop, exhibiting the elephant to Portland visitors for just one dime. Hundreds came to see Tusko, and some days the handlers would collect up to $40 from the attendees. There, in his drafty shed, Tusko was chained to large concrete blocks, and was starting to get a little irritable. He was in his musth period (when male elephant’s hormones and testosterone are raging) and particularly excitable, agitated and indeed – dangerous.
Standing and shivering in his tin walled hovel, maybe Tusko had just had enough. Maybe he was tired of being “unwanted,” and desired to be the Triumphant Tusko that he once was. Maybe a touch of the Christmas miracle that is a component of so many stories this time of year wafted into his humble abode. Whatever the reason, on Dec. 24, Tusko used the flexible finger at the end of his trunk and unscrewed the pins that secured his front leg shackles. Having accomplished this task, Tusko was almost free – pissed off and deep in musth. Tusko’s handlers realized the danger that our fair city faced. As George “Slim” Lewis said, “We had visions of Tusko stampeding in a crazy rage through the heart of Portland, killing and destroying everything in his path.”
The police were quickly summoned, and a few officers arrived at the shack with rifles and a jug of moonshine. The handlers and police passed around the latter and spent Christmas Eve watching Tusko, rifles and elephant hooks across their laps and wondering if he would free his rear legs from their iron bounds.
Christmas morning found Tusko even more enraged and the authorities wondering how much longer those stout chains would hold. The streets around the workshop were closed in addition to the Hawthorne Bridge. Nonetheless, a crowd of curious Portlanders gathered, and soon numbered several thousand. They were enjoying the Christmas spectacle, and huddled all around, “the better to be among the first trampled by the raging elephant if he should escape,” as Slim sardonically put it.
Tusko put on quite a show for his holiday admirers! The elephant “gave a demonstration in Portland, of how hard tusks are. He decided to butt his way through a solid concrete wall reinforced with steel. He broke several inches off his tusks, but he smashed a hole large enough for him to walk through.” His adoring crowd roared with glee as Tusko broke down the wall.
Portland Police Chief Leon Jenkins decided that enough was enough, and that the safety of Portlanders outweighed Tusko’s triumphant Christmas display. He assembled a firing squad of officers and a few Oregon National Guardsmen, and they took careful aim at the elephant. Just as they were about to fire, Portland Mayor George Baker telephoned in from his holiday in Tillamook and said they were to not shoot Tusko until he was completely free of his chains. Apparently the mayor didn’t care to go down in history as the man who gave Portland’s children a dead elephant for Christmas. Tusko had been issued a stay of execution – at least for the moment.
Eventually a trap was devised with a stout cable, a pile of sawdust and a bag of oats. Tusko’s front leg was snared, and the wild beast was finally subdued again. Three thousand Portlanders gave up a dime each to see Tusko on that Christmas, and about 50,000 in total viewed him while he was in town those few months. In the spring, Tusko traveled to Seattle. He died there in 1933, of deep vein thrombosis.
Today, Tusko’s skeleton resides in several storage cabinets in an undisclosed basement at the University of Oregon. He is used as a teaching tool for students. There are hopes of displaying his skeleton in a public space – but an elephant skeleton takes up a huge footprint; so far, an appropriate venue has not been found.
It’s easy to look at Tusko’s tale as a sad little holiday anecdote from Portland’s past. But I like to consider the elephant as Tusko the Triumphant, and having an opportunity to finally show an awestruck and admiring Rose City crowd just how dominant and powerful he could be. Freed of (some of) his chains, smashing down walls and terrifying the police, as thousands of his fans cheered him on – at least for one Christmas day – Tusko was finally, once again, a majestic, commanding elephant – the true king of his domain.
Sources: The Oregonian, “I Loved Rogues,” by George “Slim” Lewis and Byron Fish, Interviews with Prof. Edward Davis (UO) and Bob Lee (Oregon Zoo).
Doug Kenck-Crispin is a co-producer of the podcast Kick Ass Oregon History. Find more at ORHistory.com.
On Monday, Dec. 21, The Oregon Zoo euthanized another Tusko, its 45-year-old bull elephant, to end its suffering of a foot problem.