Crocodile Tears

  There are certain cultural icons that seem invincible.  They are always one step ahead of danger, cheating death at every turn.  Staring peril in its beady, black eyes, they unblinkingly skate across life’s thinnest ice.  And, with each stride, the world becomes more and more convinced of their invincibility.

  On Monday, news of Steve Irwin’s unexpected and untimely death swept across the globe, shocking hundreds of millions of the crocodile hunter’s fans.  To his closest circle of friends and family, the news came like a sledgehammer blow to the gut.  “The world has lost a great wildlife icon, a passionate conservationist and one of the proudest dads on the planet,” said his producer and manager, John Stainton, on the verge of tears in a press conference. “He died doing what he loved best and left this world in a happy and peaceful state of mind.”

  Irwin was swimming in the waters of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef on Monday, filming a segment for a series called “Ocean’s Deadliest,” when he was attacked by a stingray.  Though generally docile, the fish have a poisonous barb near the base of their tails.  "He came on top of the stingray and the stingray's barb went up and into his chest and put a hole into his heart," said Stainton.  Unsuccessful attempts were made to resuscitate the croc hunter, and when medics arrived by helicopter, he was pronounced dead.

  Now, imagine Evel Knievel being killed in a motorcycle stunt, or David Blaine’s lifeless body being pulled from a thawing block of ice.  We understand the inherent danger in what these people do; that’s why watching it is so thrilling.  But every time they defy death, we develop more faith in their expertise.  The danger seems more remote.  And then Dale Ernhardt loses control of his car in the final lap of the Daytona 500, and is killed.

  And like a giant, cultural “reset” button being pushed, the danger becomes very real all over again, which, in turn, reenergizes the thrill of watching.  I’m not saying that these deaths aren’t tragic—they are.  But they have an effect that, in many ways, is greater than the sadness they evoke.  Each high-profile, “untimely death” sort of sets the stage for the next, just as each motorcycle jump that Knievel completed guaranteed the next jump would be more thrilling.  It has to be, to satisfy the demand.

  Steve Irwin’s life can be summed up in two words: education and conservation.  In his 44 years on this planet, he worked tirelessly to educate the world on the importance of preserving our most precious resource—nature itself.  Sure, there was also the thrill of the chase, the heart-pounding moments when the snapping of the crocodile’s powerful jaws presented an imminent threat.  The repetitive thud of Irwin’s heartbeat in his own ears as he swam with sharks in the silence of the deep sea, adrenaline coursing through his veins.  “I get called an adrenaline junkie every other minute, and I’m just fine with that,” Irwin once said.

  Perhaps the irony lies in the fact that the end didn’t come at a time when it seemed the end was near.  He didn’t have a crocodile by the tail; he wasn’t feeding sharks from the palm of his hand.  It was a quiet moment that suddenly turned ugly, at the hand of a docile creature that suddenly lashed out. 

  Discover Communications, Inc. is currently setting up the Steve Irwin Crocodile Hunter Fund.  Find out more at www.animalplanet.com.

 -From Pulse
   September 7, 2006