Hippo Hero? I Don’t Think So!
Brandon Joyner
Every year around this time, Christmas music invades the radio and the lyric “I want a hippopotamus for Christmas/Only a hippopotamus will do” floats from the speakers. But this is a living nightmare for me and it should be for you too.
The lyrics go on…
“I don't want a doll, no dinky Tinker toy/I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy.”
At the tender age of 10 years old, did Gayla Peevy know what she was doing when she recorded this soon-to-be hit classic in 1953? My guess is no. But ignorance isn’t bliss to those clueless kids who now add this dangerous beast to the top of their must-have-lists every December.
You may be asking yourself, ”Brandon, what is it that gets your feathers ruffled about such an innocent song?” I will put it plain and simple. I am scared of hippos.
“But why?” you ask.
This might take a minute to explain but stick with me. I love Jurassic Park.
“But those are velociraptors, Brandon. They’ve been extinct for millions of years.”
I know they no longer occupy a place on this Earth. BUT… In 1993, they were very much alive on the silver screen in the hit Steven Spielberg movie of the same title as the Michael Crichton book, Jurassic Park. A fan of dinosaurs for years, even though I was frightened, I was excited that these long-gone creatures came to life on film. I was ready to read anything and everything that Crichton released and continue to head back time and time again to visit with Mr. Spielberg in the darkened recesses of the cinema.
Also, for the record, I am still scared of velociraptors. Even the animatronics ones from themed parks.
That brings me back to high school study hall. I had gotten my hands on a copy of Congo. The characters jump off the page fighting with wild animals in this (let’s be honest) overwhelmingly mediocre book. That didn’t matter. It begged for my attention. I plowed through that novel in a few hours.
I was done with Congo. But Congo wasn’t done with me.
“Mom says the hippo would eat me up / But the teacher says a hippo is a vegetarian.”
I had no idea at the time how correct Mrs. Peevy was. How dangerous are these animals? I’ll point out that I’ve never had any personal interactions with hippos. It is true that they are herbivores. But still…
Based on the success of Jurassic Park, it seemed that every book that Crichton had written was being optioned for the screen. This included a laughable but wonderfully enjoyable adaptation of Congo. About half the movie passes, in the dead of night, where dozens of men and women are rafting down the river when… they’re attacked!
The waters rumble and churn. Boats are flipped over. People flail in a chaotic ballet of death and destruction as each is snapped in two or pulled down to the murky depths by – you guessed it – a bloat of hippos.
There have been a handful of movies that have changed my life: Citizen Kane, Back to the Future, Amadeus. And now… Congo.
“There's lots of room for him in our two-car garage / I'd feed him there and wash him there /And give him his massage.”
Chances are, even if this wild animal didn’t break through your flimsy garage door and trample the other neighborhood children, it would probably sense danger when you tried to rub up on it and violently ravage you to protect itself.
But I digress…
I came home and did my research. In a time before Wikieverything, I flipped through our encyclopedia set and read up on these creatures. While the movie was frightening, knowing what I know now (then), I was right to be afraid.
Do I own a copy of Congo on DVD? Absolutely. Should I not? Up for debate. It’s my family and friends who truly won’t let me forget the deep and enduring mark left on me by this terrifying movie.
You see, I’ve shared this same story with them. Instead of sympathy, it's met with jeers and laughter. On top of that, whether it be my stocking or in a neatly wrapped package under the tree, a bountiful bow sat on top, I am gifted a hippo icon of some kind.
My best friend Kristen’s mother, Cheryl, and my mom – I know she’s a talented artist but she’s more sadist than saint – are the main culprits.
“I can see me now on Christmas morning / Creeping down the stairs / Oh, what joy and what surprise / When I open up my eyes / To see my hippo hero standing there.”
This eerily prescient lyric echoed through the halls of my home nearly 50 plus years later. Every Christmas a different reminder of my fears is all but guaranteed.
Let’s go over a quick list of what I’ve been surprised with over the years.
A plastic figurine, its mouth wide open and ready to attack with beady red eyes.
A stress ball – one assumes to counteract the former.
Soap.
A potato chip clip.
A jewelry holder adorned with Swarovski crystal.
The list goes on and on.
And, by the way, young Ms. Peevy, even in a cape, it’s hard to consider a hippo a hero.
“No crocodiles, or rhinoceroseses / I only like hippopotamuses / And hippopotamuses like me too”
They most certainly do not, Ms. Peevy, like you. Or anything else. (Except, perhaps, in their jowls or mouths agape…)
Before I go, I would like to present two counterpoints for your consideration.
Hippos are dangerous creatures. According to the internet, which we all know is digital gospel, the hippo is the most dangerous mammal on Earth, after only humans. They kill over 500 people a year. But their numbers have reached quadruple digits some years. Sharks barely dispatch a dozen people a year. While crocodiles reach hippo heights, rhinos might be a better pet as a gift. Just learn the proper pluralization of the word. (You were so close. It’s rhinoceroses.)
It’s Christmas. Let’s end on a positive note. This song actually saved a hippo. When the song became a hit, there was a fundraiser so that Gayla Peevy could be gifted an actual hippo for Christmas. It worked. This hippo was made comfortable in the city zoo and lived a happy, non-murderous life for the next FIFTY YEARS!
So… if instead of a White Christmas you’re dreaming of a holiday spent with the third largest land mammal, my recommendation would be to reconsider. After all, wherever would they sit at the dinner table?
~ Brandon L. Joyner