By Tim Sanders

The following headline appeared above an online FOX news article dated March 25, 2008:

"MAN BITTEN BY RATTLESNAKE STOWED AWAY IN LUGGAGE"

Now that headline immediately piqued my curiosity. Did the bitten man stow himself away, or did baggage handlers stow him? Was he merely stowed loose amongst several other pieces of luggage, or was he stuffed into a suitcase? Was he considered carry on luggage, or stowed in the airline baggage compartment below? We professional journalists are trained to ask those difficult questions, so I had no choice but to read the entire article in hopes of finding answers.

Well, imagine my surprise when I learned that the man in question, Andy Bacas of Arlington, Virginia, was not really stowed anywhere. It was the rattlesnake which was stowed away. Or which had stowed itself away, just prior to Bacas’s return flight from a trip to South Carolina. The answer to whether Mr. Snake was stowed or did the stowing itself will depend on what further investigation reveals about the snake’s home address, background, and political affiliations.

After returning home on Monday morning, March 24, Bacas reached into his suitcase and felt a sharp pain, after which he noticed a young canebrake rattlesnake. So he put two and two together and decided that he’d suddenly developed rheumatoid arthritis. No, actually he realized that there might be a connection between the pain and the snake, and slammed the suitcase shut. All of the snake authorities I’ve talked to agree that, without access to a live hand grenade, this was the right thing to do.

And since apparently there is no Snake Department in Arlington, Mr. Bacas did the next best thing and called the Fire Department. According to Chief Ben Barksdale, spokesman for the Arlington County Fire Department, when the fire personnel arrived, a fireman took the suitcase outside, opened it, and did what any seasoned fireman would do in a snake emergency, "blasted it with a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher, essentially freezing the snake and killing it." Barksdale added that "the guy who responded had seen it done on TV." I personally think it was a good move. You don’t want to take any chances on a highly combustible snake slithering off and setting the whole neighborhood on fire.

This story brought to mind a famous song from the late ‘60s. It was "The Snake," performed by Rhythm and Blues artist Al Wilson. The first few lines were:

On her way to work one morning,
Down the path along side the lake,
A tender-hearted woman saw a poor half frozen snake.
His pretty colored skin had been all frosted with the dew.
"Oh well," she cried, "I’ll take you in and I’ll take care of you."

The song went on to tell how the snake was no ordinary snake, because it could talk, and how the tender-hearted woman took the talking snake home and gave him some honey and milk and put him by the fireside to warm up, where a hot cinder landed on him and he had to be extinguished by the local fire department before the whole neighborhood went up in flames.

No, actually there was no hot cinder, the snake revived, and when she returned home from work she clutched him to her bosom and told him how beautiful he was, and how his skin was perfectly smooth, and how his complexion was flawless, and how he reminded her a great deal of her first husband, Durward, who, although he was not exactly a snake, had been a congressman until the felony conviction. And then there was her second husband, who’d left her tender-hearted bosom several years ago when she returned from work and found him coiled around the babysitter. So finally, deeply moved by her pathetic tales of misfortunes with men, which went on for several more verses and several more husbands, the snake bit her. In the bosom, I believe. Possibly in both bosoms.

And she died, but not before the talking snake explained to her that she was a moron, because even when she took him in she knew he was a snake.

It was a silly song, but I liked the tune, and my college buddies and I often sang along when we heard it on the radio, using our own slightly different lyrics:

On her way to work one morning,
Down the path along side the lake,
A tender-hearted woman saw a poor half frozen snake.
His pretty skin was oh so fine; what a lovely belt he’d make.
So she trotted home and galloped back and killed him with a rake!

Hey, it rhymed, and I bet most women would have found it realistic. We composed some other lines for that song, too, but I don’t remember them anymore. Suffice it to say they were probably every bit as good as that first verse.

Many years ago some of my college buddies, who considered themselves authorities on ‘60s R&B music, analyzed the deeper meaning of that song. Jim said that "The Snake" was a metaphor, illustrating the futility of trying to make a wild beast into something he wasn’t. Larry said the song was an allegory, showing what happens when we cozy up to televangelists, trial lawyers, or congresspersons. Frank said the song was obviously a searing indictment of the Johnson Administration. And DeWayne said he was tired of hearing about metaphors and alligators and Johnsons, and since the talking snake theme had been done to death anyway, he’d like to hear a song about a homicidal talking turtle. He added that he could think a whole lot better after he’d had another beer.

Of course they are all much older now. Were I to ask them today what the story about the guy in Virginia and his stowaway rattlesnake could teach us, drawing on the wisdom that only comes with maturity, they’d probably agree that unless I were to make a song out of it–something with a good beat that they could dance to–they couldn’t be of any help.

I suppose I could try, but I doubt if I could come up with a rhyme for "fire extinguisher."