The Tragic Tale of Turtle Man

At fourteen I’d convinced my parents that it was completely legal for me to have a moped— moped’s were a reasonably new thing in Massachusetts and since they had pedals they were classified as “mechanical bikes” — it wasn’t as much of a con as I’m making it sound— the cops weren’t even sure what the rules were. It was gasoline powered— it would cost me 25c to fill it up. People at gas stations would come over everytime I stopped. Did you need to register it? Did you need a license? Did you need a helmet? I did none of the three but I rode that moped everywhere. I learned the hardway to stay off the road in early Spring until they did the streep sweeping when I wiped out in some sand. It caused the moped to stall and I couldn’t get it started. The bike was heavy and I had to push it about a mile and a half— some guy walking by asked me how I liked it and how it ran (I was pushing it).

The biggest pain I had with it was the lack of a tail light that made it dangerous to drive after dark (and would cause the po po to pull me over) and the chain which would come loose if I hit a big enough dip or in the case of this particular afternoon a set of railroad tracks.

I puttered over to a stop and turned off the engine, as I was about to get off a guy dressed like Steve Erwin (RIP) came running over to me.

“Oh thank heavens you stopped! Nobody would stop! Can you believe it? No one wants to help!”

“Um, yeah.” I stammered.

The railroad tracks somehow came before a small bridge that ran across the Blackstone River— a heavily polluted stream of water and debris that ran all the way down to Rhode Island— I hadn’t noticed it, but there was a giant rock in the middle of the road and me and Ranger Smith were running towards it.

“He’s going to get hit by a car!” he called back to me.

Now I’m really not sure why I followed but follow I did and pretty soon I realized that wasn’t a rock, it was a space station— or in this case a gigantic snapping turtle. He was probably 150 years old— his shell was the size of a small coffee table, and his head legs and arms had retreated into the shell no doubt because he was frightened by the cars that were whizzing past him.

The Ranger told me to grab one end and we’d lift him up and get him into the river— now I’ve been to the zoo— I’ve seen these dinosaur like creatures plenty of times, most of them behind a thick sheet of glass. My brain quickly raced through possibillities and I told him I’d take the back, the last thing I wanted was this frightened turtle snapping out at whatever would be eye level— in this case my crotch.

So I saw the tail— reptilian indeed, and I started to lift the back— the ancient feet came out— and the claws and scaly skin was quite a sight. We hussled over towards the bridge— I wasn’t sure what the plan was, it was a very steep climb down to the water through heavy rocks and weeds and even then I was wearing linen pants and a blazer— not exactly explorer wear.

I also knew this part of the Blackstone very well, a few years earlier my cousin and I tried to launch a raft from this very point, the water was about six inches deep and the ground under it was all jagged rocks. I started to wonder how a creature this large even existed in that shallow amount of water and how in the world it made it up to the road. I didn’t wonder long because a heavy stream of turtle urine shot out and just missed my loafers as I quickly got them out of the way. The turtle was getting heavy and the Ranger was smaller than me.

Struggling he told me to set him down on the wide bridge railing while we figured things out. The railing was totally flat, but it’s width was less than the turtly by far— his arms and legs hung out on both sides and his head looked back at me.

“I don’t think this is a good idea…” I started— I wasn’t a Turtle expert— I wasn’t a nature guy— I wasn’t dressed like Steve Erwin, but balancing a 125lb turtle on a eight inch wide railing where he would fall three feet to the cement in one direction and fiteen feet to the rocks below in the other.

“Quiet! Let me think!” The Ranger took his eyes off the Turtle and was looking at the trails on either side of the railings. “We can go down this way—” he started. I was done, I was not going to carry this thing down to the shallow river in the clothes I was wearing— I was pretty sure there was urine on my leather shoes. Before I could let him know he was on his own the turtle suddenly recognized his situation and started frantically moving his arms and legs causing the giant shell to wiggle, wobble and in short order—topple. Rather than falling onto the concrete sidewalk he went over the high edge— The Ranger and I got to the railing at the same time.

If you’ve seen the final scene in DIE HARD where Hans Gruber is slow motion falling to his death from the Tower (sorry spoiler— movie is almost 40 years old) that’s what we saw— the turtle fell shell down— his expression as much of a look of surprise as a reptile can muster— and soon he hit the water (and the rocks) causing his shell to burst open in a horrible mess of turtle inerds and more— the water mercifully washed away his remains and I looked over at the Ranger—who’s head and hands still extended out over the bridge— tears pouring down his cheeks.

I straightened up.

“Well, that’s it for me.” I said, giving the Ranger a quick tap on the back as I walked back over to my moped. I’d gotten really good at reattaching the chain. As I started it up I looked back— and he was still standing at the edge of the railing.

I drove away.

About twenty years later I was driving down a very country road and I noticed a small yellow card with the words “TURTLE PATROL” on it— on a post a bit further up ahead was a much older Ranger— same outfit, now a big gray, hammering a SLOW DOWN FOR TURTLES sign. Our eyes made contact and for a second I think there was recognition.

The event, like the murder of Bruce Wayne’s parents, had forged a vow in this man’s heart— never would another Turtle suffer his murder at the hands of a well meaning environmentalist and a well dressed teenager who never should have stopped.
Carry on Turtle Man, may god help you in your mission.