In his youth he was just another shaggy headed, slump-shouldered nobody. He was anonymous. Truly anonymous. He literally had no name.
He did have a vice: envy. He wanted to be the bison boss. So one day he challenged Napoleon, head bull of the South Park buffalo herd.
Things didn’t work out so well for our nameless friend. He suffered a solid butt-kicking. As a result, gamekeepers decided to give the bull a moniker suiting his foolish ambition.
This was in the 1930s, before the world knew of death camps and blitzkrieg. So when seeking an appropriate name for their silly bison, gamekeepers thought of the ridiculous man then at the helm of Germany, the guy with a silly toothbrush mustache and combover hair that flapped in his eyes when he ranted.
They dubbed the bull Hitler.
For years Hitler the bison nursed his wounded pride, if indeed bison have such a thing. He sulked around the South Park game preserve, eating grass, chewing cud, napping and, uh, standing. And perhaps plotting in his bison brain.
Then, on the night of Jan. 20, 1940, Hitler and his one-time rival Napoleon made their move, butting their massive heads against the fence that enclosed their corral. Soon, the bulls crashed through and lumbered into a nearby woods.
Authorities caught up with the two the next day. Napoleon was lounging in an obscure section of the park where he was no threat to anyone, so police let him be.
But Hitler had invaded a snow-covered field outside the park, near Brownsville Road. Soon, the 2,000-pound bull was surrounded by 20 police officers, all sheltered in cars. Officers feared Hitler would, at any moment, attack them in a savage rush.
“This bull is tough,” warned game warden Hugh Q. Turner. “He’s mean. He’d be sure to get one of us if we went after him on foot. He could turn a car over like an empty bucket if he wanted to.”
Tension filled the frigid air. Hitler lay down and took a nap.
When he awoke, he sauntered toward a nearby intersection. Alarmed that the bull was nearing civilization, authorities took drastic action. First, they pelted Hitler with snowballs. Then then they honked their automobile horns in an effort to frighten the wandering bull.
Hitler glared. Apparently annoyed, he strolled to an old schoolyard.
Four police cars bounced along after him. They stopped 15 feet from Hitler, who once again was lying in the snow. One vehicle ventured a bit closer. Hitler shook his head, awkwardly rose to his feet and moved toward the auto, which beat a hasty retreat.
Now authorities summoned their heaviest weapon — a two-ton truck, which edged in reverse toward the bull. Hitler lowered his head and lunged, putting a sizable dent in the vehicle. Satisfied, Hitler meandered away.
Police regrouped. They needed a new strategy. Perhaps food would entice Hitler back to the bison corral, someone said. But no one would volunteer to carry the food near enough so the bull could smell it. One officer suggested slinging a lasso around Hitler. That idea was scrapped when another policeman recalled that a buffalo with a lasso around its neck once did considerable damage to eight cowboys in Wyoming.
Hitler stood a distance away and watched as police gathered their wheeled armada, which now included two snow-scraping trucks, in a “V” shape and moved the wedge close to Hitler. This did the trick. Hitler moved the only way open to him — back to the park.
A mile from the corral, most of the vehicles dropped away from the chase. Only one little truck followed, veering left and right to keep Hitler on track.
Suddenly, as he neared his destination, Hitler lowered his head, turned and ran into the woods. This was too much for the frustrated authorities.
“If he gets into civilization,” warned a county police inspector named James Hoey, “we’ll put him out of circulation.” As if Hitler were an errant postage stamp.
Police and park attendants followed the bull in the gathering darkness. As Hitler neared the town of Library, an assistant park custodian ended the bull’s big adventure by pumping two bullets into its head.
The wily Napoleon, meanwhile, calmly returned to the corral. Now no bull was strong or mean enough to challenge his control. On this night, there would be no Waterloo.
