Word: wombats
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...some 150 American zoos in between, the troubles are not very different. The sharks eat the angelfish. The Australian hairy-nosed wombat stays in its cave, and the South American smoky jungle frog hunkers down beneath a leaf, all tantalizingly hidden from the prying eyes of the roughly 110 million Americans who go to zoos every year. Visitors often complain that as a result of all the elaborate landscaping, they cannot find the animals. But this, like almost everything else that goes wrong these days, is a signal that America's zoos are doing something very right...
This is a city that holds 30,000 conferences a year, on the tsetse fly, on slave labor, on trade tariffs, on the future of the Australian wombat. Conferences are supposed to begin and end punctually, and then the delegates depart to make room for the next set of delegates. That is the system, and the motto on the Swiss 5-franc coin is "Dominus providebit" (The Lord will provide). This week the $100-a-day hotels are filling up with visitors to the world's biggest auto show, which is being held at the new Palexpo exhibition hall. Next...
...yourself, by donating money to help the hard-pressed zoo keep going. Prices vary. Parental rights, of a sort, to the Siberian tiger go for $1,800 a year; the rhino costs $2,000. Says Joyce Gardella, a Brookfield official: "Right away we were out of hairy-nosed wombats." Price per wombat...
Under the guidance of softspoken, spectacled Prince Bernhard of The Netherlands, the fund's international president, W.W.F. has launched 550 rescue projects for threatened species in 60 countries. In addition to exotic animals like the wombat, the organization has also helped more common species. Last year, America's largest furriers union reached an agreement with W.W.F. to stop accepting pelts taken from spotted cats, thus ensuring that the big felines would be able to hold their own in the wilds. The members have even prevailed upon some of the world's major airlines to stop promoting safari...
...mostly on Mailer, who goes "Unhh! Unhh!" a lot while he is thinking up dirty words. People come and go. One is a prizefighter (José Torres) with a German shepherd. Norman has a protracted barking contest with the dog, and spars a round with Torres, demonstrating the killer-wombat style with which he has enlivened so many Manhattan parties. Toward the end, two broads arrive-one of them Beverly Bentley, the current Mrs. Mailer. She hands him a knife a couple of times, but nothing comes of it. After a while the money runs out, and the home movie...