The Night We Shot at Elephants

It's a sticky, humid Sunday night in downtown Tucson and the streets are flooded with people holding sticky little hands, cotton candy remnants, bags of peanuts, and Ringling Brothers Circus memorabilia as they exit the Tucson Convention Center doors and make way to their cars. Waves of vehicles inch their way along the roads while my long-time friend, Erin, and I try to find a place to park in the madness. The two of us arrive while masses leave. But soon the streets become vacant and we sit on the steps of the police department building, (where my sister Gayle works, actually) testing exposures on our cameras. We sit and wait; we wait for the elephants.

The parking lot lights begin to switch off, one by one, and the city landscape is dark. Random doses of color flicker here and there. An already challenging photo situation is just about to get more interesting.

Lightning sprawls across the sky as a protester approaches us and tells us of her worry; of the abuse the magnificent beasts could endure during their careers as circus elephants.

We hear the rain before we feet it. It rudely interrupts our conversation and we run for cover, anticipation rising within us of when they would come our way and if the rain would continue.


The "bloop, bloop!" of sirens signal that police cars are maneuvering their way to block any traffic and to make way for the parade of the elephants. No trumpet (or trunk) blows to announce their arrival, but we spot the gray leader of the single-file line, his trunk swaying side to side. Rain pelts the streets, reflecting a mysterious orange light, and we take as many pictures as we can without too many raindrops hitting us under the building's overhang, but the elephants quickly pass us. Erin shouts, "How bad do we want to get these pictures?" as we teeter on the edge of dry pavement and wet. "I want the elephants!" So we run on slippery asphalt and sidewalks, our cameras under our shirts!

We rush to keep up with the kindergarten-like elephants as they march north on Church Avenue. Each one grips a tail with a trunk like a security blanket as though they can't keep going without each other's comfort and they walk as though they're in a hurry -perhaps from the elephant paparazzi. We can't seem to get in front of them; they're quicker than we imagined they'd be!

The make a right on Pennington Street, ignoring stop signs and red lights as we snap away. A man has to snap at me a few times, too. "Miss, please stay on the other side of the rope!" I apologize frequently for wandering on the wrong side, but you see, I'm walking as I look through my view finder and the people holding the ropes are in my way!

More people join the frenzy of photographing the beautiful animals as we arrive at the train station. The Dumbo song plays in my head, "Pink elephants on parade! What'll I do? What'll I do? What an unusual view!"

The rain has let up quite a bit, but it's still dark and because of the slow shutter speed I'm using, it's difficult to get non-blurry images.

Once before the circus train, the elephants seem to remember (because an elephant never forgets) what to do and automatically and meticulously line up before the train cars, their rear-ends facing the onlookers. Then it becomes clear what the haste in elephant pace was all about! They must know a long, jolting journey on the train looms before them and they know there is no better time to... relieve themselves before getting aboard.

I continue shooting at them from behind bars through my cyclops lens as an old tattooed man directs each one into a train car which boasts, "The Greatest Show on Earth."

Is what's so magical to me, really monotonous and repetitive, same-old action to the elephants? Do they long for the plains of Africa, or the forests of Asia, or the enclosure of a zoo cage even, or do they enjoy their performing art? Who scouts them and how are they chosen? Many hunt them; me included, as I prey on them for a special elephant image. I shot at them over one-hundred times.

Despite that guilt-ridden, pity-filled question, this night will forever remain memorable and surreal; definitely, for me, one of the "greatest shows" and special secrets of the public streets in Downtown Tucson.

Thank you, Erin and Donovan, for sharing.