We were surely the only county jail in the world to have its own buffalo herd. How we got that herd is almost as interesting as our continuing efforts to keep them from getting castrated.
It was in the early 1980’s and San Francisco Mayor Dianne Feinstein was on a health kick. She would get up early in the morning, put on her Gucci jogging outfit and have her limo take her out to Golden Gate Park to jog down the center of the Park on J.F.K. Drive, the limo trailing at a discreet distance. On her jog she passed the Bison Paddock, just to the east of the Polo Field. What she saw there did not please her.
Golden Gate Park comprises 1,017 acres and is 20% larger than Central Park in New York City. It was completed and opened in 1870.
On several Mondays, Dianne asked Tom Malloy, the Director of Recreation and Parks, why there weren’t more buffalo in the park other than the six or eight scraggly specimens she saw while jogging in the morning. Malloy was a City Hall veteran and was extremely good at the subservient dodge: “Yes, Madam Mayor. I’m not sure, Madam Mayor. I think we were looking into that. I’ll check with staff and let you know.” But new buffalo never appeared in the Park.
The large bison corral at the San Bruno Jail compound was located northeast of the original women's jail building (center). To the upper left is the separate men's jail; both were opened in 1934.
Malloy’s face tuned eighty shades of purple and red.
“Yes, Madam Mayor, that is indeed good news. Ah . . . Ah . . . there is one slight problem, however.”
“Problem? What problem?”
“Well, Madam Mayor,” Malloy began slowly, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. It seems that the bison herd in Golden Gate Park has a rare form of muscular tuberculosis and we have been advised not to mix them with any other animals to contain this condition.”
“Well, Tom. That is unfortunate, isn’t it. I’m very sorry to hear that. Well, you had better find someplace to put the sick buffalo because Dick’s herd arrives next Monday.”
Tom Malloy buttonholed me immediately after the meeting about moving the sick herd of bison to the San Bruno jail compound, which sits on over 200 acres in rural San Mateo County. I said I was interested, but there was no way I could be responsible for the bison and we would need a fence that could contain them. He assured me that the fence was not a problem and that he would arrange for the San Francisco Zoo to be responsible for their care and feeding. I said that once the Zoo was on board and the fence was up, I would make our end work.
In May of 1987 two new bison calves appeared in the paddock demonstrating the resilience of the San Bruno herd.
It wasn’t long before the scraggly castoff buffalo became Department mascots. They were quickly elevated to the status of the unofficial symbol of the San Francisco jails. Soon, employees were sporting buffalo t-shirts and buffalo earrings. The deputies gave a plush stuffed buffalo animal to the Chief Deputy at the San Bruno jail on the anniversary of his 25th year in the department. I thought the stuffed animal looked a little silly on his desk in the front office of this 1934 vintage jail, but what did I know?
The "King Lear Speaks" column logo in the Sheriff's Department official newletter "The Incident Report".
Buffalomania had clearly overtaken not only the San Bruno jail facility but the entire Sheriff’s Department.
Years of happy buffalo jokes followed (as did the unfortunate groin goring of a maintenance worker who, while unloading bales of feed in the bison pen, made the mistake of standing between the feed trough and one of the larger bison). Apart from occasionally escaping through an open gate, they were really no problem. Each year a calf or two would appear and the Zoo people would wring their hands about bringing yet another bison into the world with imperfect bovine genes.
There were a few other unfortunate incidents, such as the time a well-meaning inmate clean-up crew tossed freshly cut, but potentially toxic, oleander into the bison paddock for the animals to enjoy. One particularly large and greedy male ate most of it and died a couple of days later. It took a tow truck to cart away the stinking carcass.
Ray Towbis was born in Brooklyn, majored in film studies at New York University, and became a community activist in Mendocino, California and San Francisco. He had a pottery shop on Union Street when he urged me to run for Sheriff in 1979. When I took office in January of 1980, I made Ray my Chief of Staff.
“Put him on the phone,” Ray replied.
“Hello Mr. Towbis, I’m Dr. Robert Harrison from the Department of Agriculture. The deputies here are not being very helpful. They said I had to talk to City Hall, which I presume is you. Now, as you know, the bison here at the jail have a condition that we cannot allow to perpetuate, so I have been authorized to address the problem. I can’t understand what is so complicated.”
The good doctor was just the sort of arrogant bureaucrat who could unleash a torrent of severe contrariness from Ray Towbis.
“What did you say your name was again, Doctor?”, Towbis asked. “And, could you spell it for me? I want to make sure we have it spelled correctly in the press release.”
The phone was silent for a few seconds. Then Dr. Harrison said, “Press release? What press release? I didn’t say anything about a press release.”
“I think you have it backwards there, doc. It’s not your press release I’m talking about,” Towbis said as the devil took over his mind. “It’s Sheriff Hennessey’s press release. Do you know that the Sheriff has named each of those buffalo after one of our beloved Mayors? That’s right. There’s Mayor Alioto, Mayor Christopher, Mayor Robinson and even a couple of Mayor Feinstein’s because we have more lady buffaloes than we’ve had lady mayors.”
“I’m not sure what you are getting at here, Mr. Towbis, and I don’t see what this has to do with my duties.” Dr. Harrison was starting to get a little nervous.
“Well, look at it this way, doc. In tomorrow’s newspaper, in real big type, it’s gonna say, ‘Dr. Harrisburg cuts off Mayor Agnos’s balls.’ Now, is that what you want to read? Did I get your name right? You did say ‘Harrisburg,’ didn’t you? Is that with one ‘r’ or two? I want to make sure I spell your name right, ‘cause when I get my name in the paper, I want it spelled right. So, what is it? One ‘r’ or two?”
Long silence. Then, “Mr. Towbis, I think I had better check with my superiors. This isn’t the end of the matter, I am sure, but for today, I believe I had better get further instructions. Good day, Mr. Towbis.”
Needless to say, the buffalo didn’t get their balls cut off.
Dave was aghast. “A vasectomy? On a bison? I’ve never heard of anyone doing one. But . . . I suppose . . . Well, I guess we could give it a try if you think that will take care of everything.”
“Give it a try, Dave. And, call me back. We still have that Towbis press release around here someplace and I don’t want to send it out unless it’s necessary.”
And so it was that the old Golden Gate Park buffalo herd, to which Mayor Dianne gave the evil eye years before as she jogged down J.F.K. Drive, became the nation’s first bison vasectomy patients.
And long may they roam.
Additional note:
The animals in question are correctly referred to as “bison”, not “buffalo”. Basically, buffalo are only found in South Asia and Africa; bison are indigenous to North America and parts of Europe. Bison have a hump at the shoulder, buffalo do not; bison have shorter horns than buffalo. Bison have been kept in Golden Gate Park continuously since 1891, and you can read more about that here.
