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A R T I C L E S From the Orlando Sentinel September 19, 2002 Click Here After years of being poked, hundreds of research chimps may relax in Florida by MAYA BELL MIAMI - Some are descendants of the chimps who went where no man had gone before, and now they have a chance to do what so many Americans dream of doing: retire to Florida. In an unprecedented agreement hailed by animal-rights activists, the Coulston Foundation, one of the largest primate-testing laboratories in the country, has shut down its New Mexico facility and transferred 266 of its research chimpanzees to the custody of Florida's Save the Chimps. The chimps, who range in age from 2 to 40, are the offspring of the astro-chimps conscripted by the Air Force into the U.S. space program in the 1950s. They will remain in Alamogordo, N.M., for the foreseeable future. But Save the Chimp's founder, Carole Noon, hopes dozens will eventually move to her 200-acre sanctuary near Fort Pierce, where 25 space chimps or their offspring have been enjoying some well-deserved R&R since last year. "It's perfect -- the best possible outcome imaginable, because they are going to permanently retire -- no more research," said Eric Kleiman, research director for the California-based In Defense of Animals, which has campaigned for years to close the Coulston Foundation. What compelled Coulston to sell its offices, animal housing and lab to Noon's nonprofit center is a matter of perspective. Save the Chimps purchased the facility with a $3.7 million grant from the Michigan-based Arcus Foundation, a longtime supporter of Noon's Florida sanctuary, and took over its offices Monday. Noon, calling the laboratory "notorious" for its mistreatment of primates, insists Coulston was forced out of business by its sullied reputation. She said Coulston, investigated by the U.S. Department of Agriculture 10 times on allegations of violating the Animal Welfare Act, "was reduced to selling baby chimps just to make payroll." Coulston spokesman Don McKinney has a different take. He said founder Frederick Coulston, who used primates to test treatments for malaria, hepatitis and AIDS, decided to move into a new field of research and wanted to ensure his "animal family" was well cared for. "We did a very good thing, and we stand by that," McKinney said. "All of Carole Noon's diatribes are just that -- diatribes with no reality to it. But she has an extremely good track record, and we know she takes care of these animals. That's why we wanted them to go to her." A primatologist who studied under the legendary Jane Goodall, Noon began fighting for the chimps' freedom in 1997, when the Air Force declared the survivors and the offspring of the space program "surplus" inventory and offered them up for bid. Air Force officials didn't care whether their charges remained in research or retired, but insisted they be housed in a facility. Noon didn't have one, so many went to Coulston. Noon thought the chimps deserved better and sued. After all, she says, they already had endured a lifetime of hardship with very few chimp pleasures. Snatched from their mothers in Africa, the original 65 space chimps were pressed into Air Force training, whirling in centrifuges and testing the limits of endurance in zero gravity before doing their adopted country proud. Two of the conscripts blasted into space before Mercury astronauts Alan Shepard and John Glenn dared to follow. The astronauts were feted at parades. The astro-chimps were reassigned to new "hazardous missions" such as testing seat belts. After raising $2 million to build the sanctuary in western St. Lucie County, Noon won custody of 25 of the Coulston chimps last year and set about the painstaking process of transforming them from guinea pigs back into chimps. It's not as easy as it sounds. Poked, prodded, caged and confined to groups of six, research chimps don't develop the highly social bonds of chimps in the wild. But with Noon giving them what she calls "room at the inn" and making "educated guesses" about whom to introduce to whom, they slowly learned to groom one another, play, squabble and reconcile. It paid off. Earlier this year, the cages that make up the chimps' "introduction house" were unlocked for the last time, and 20 chimps were allowed to roam at will on an adjacent island dotted with hills and jungle gyms. Now, Noon says, they're as close to home -- and to the wild -- as they'll ever be. "The males patrol the perimeter like a gang of thieves," Noon said. "They're getting into arguments. They're getting into hugs. They're getting into games. It's as good as captivity -- which sucks -- can be." It's a painstaking process she's now ready to do all over again -- 10 to 15 times over. Slowly but surely, she plans to divide her 266 new charges into small groups, guessing who will get along with whom. And then she'll build more hills with more jungle gyms and let the chimps be chimps. "Some will move to Florida, maybe half," Noon said. "This is a long-term project. It will take seven to eight years, but we've already shown it can work." Maya Bell can be reached at 305-810-5003 or mbell@orlandosentinel.com. Copyright © 2002, Orlando Sentinel | |||||||||||||||
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