My Uncle Mel never trusted chimps. He had many stories about trainers and others killed and injured by these apes. When I met Cheetah, the original Tarzan chimp, he was in his sixties, living with his trainer in the Simi foothills. He was so powerful, when he patted me on the head, I thought he cracked some of my neck vertebrae (Cheetah is still alive in an ape rescue in San Diego. He’s eighty.) My Uncle Mel told me of a chimp that a railroad roustabout had given a bottle of beer to while their circus train was on a siding between cities. This chimp was a well known performer, kept on a tiny leash for appearance sake. Another man gives the chimp a bottle of beer full or urine for a joke. The chimp killed the man by breaking his back, backwards, then, destroyed two more workers. When the yard men came to shoot him, he stood with an odd look on his face and took the shots.