Alligator Farmers Snap Back At Florida's Plan to Sever Funding - With Sales Down, They Want Marketing Aid; Ribs, Tongue and a Missing Middle Finger
Wall Street Journal, 3/12/11 by Arian Campo-Flores
LAKE PLACID, Fla.-Genie Tillman, an alligator farmer from Lake Placid, Fla., prepared for an apparel trade show in Las Vegas last month by packing an array of reptilian wares into three large suitcases. She threw in alligator-skin bomber jackets, golf shoes and Bible covers.
"We have something for everybody," said Ms. Tillman, the 68-year-old owner of Parker Island Gator Farm here. "We even have a whiskey flask that's covered in alligator and purses for biker babes."
There are a lot of hungry mouths to feed at Gatorama, an old-time tourist attraction and alligator farm at the edge of the Florida Everglades. Judy Reich reports from Palmdale.
The trip was aimed at promoting Florida's struggling alligator industry-some 30 farms, along with hundreds of trappers, tanners and leather makers. Though demand for gator meat remains strong, tough times drove revenue from Florida alligator products down to $5.3 million in 2009, from $16.4 million the year before, the most recent state figures show.
Now, Gov. Rick Scott wants to cut off the funding that helped pay for Ms. Tillman's trip. Faced with a $3.6 billion budget deficit, Mr. Scott is intent on axing what he considers frivolous spending, including a line in the state budget for "alligator marketing."
"The state shouldn't be in that business," he said in an interview in January.
The marketing money, amounting to roughly $100,000 a year, depending on the alligator harvest, is administered by the state Department of Agriculture. It pays for booths at restaurant and fashion conferences. It finances brochures about "exotic Florida alligator meat" ("For people who love adventure!"). And there's a website featuring delicacies such as "citrus glazed gator ribs."
A recent competition for chefs sponsored by the department included a dish made with alligator tongue. "Surprisingly, it was good. It was very tender," says Allen Register, owner of the Gatorama farm and roadside attraction in Palmdale.
The promotional funds come partly from the alligator industry itself. For every egg harvested from the wild, farmers pay the state $5, of which $1 is earmarked for marketing. That yielded $32,000 in 2010, which was supplemented with another $54,000 in state money.
The farmers began this arrangement voluntarily in 1993, hoping to benefit from the agriculture department's expertise in promoting more than 300 commodities.
Other states promote native flora and fauna, too. Louisiana's alligator farmers help pay for their marketing, which is handled by the state's Seafood Promotion and Marketing Board. California markets sea urchin. Kansas touts buffalo jerky.
Mr. Scott's proposal has Florida's gator industry snapping mad. The governor "really doesn't know what he's talking about," says Mr. Register, whose left middle finger was bitten off by an angry crocodile.
Mr. Scott's office didn't respond to requests for comment. But in the January interview, the Republican governor said that eliminating unnecessary programs line by line in the budget adds up to significant savings.
The farmers have dealt with cuts before. Former Republican Gov. Jeb Bush cut all of the marketing money from the budget each year of his second term. The funding was later reinstated by Mr. Bush's Republican successor, Charlie Crist.
Mr. Register-who, like Ms. Tillman, voted for Mr. Scott-doesn't understand why some politicians have a beef with his industry.
"Maybe it just sounds bizarre," he says.
Raising alligators is arduous work. During egg-collecting season in July, two-person teams set out in 100-degree heat to scout marshes in airboats. One person gathers eggs, while the other fights off the mama gators. "The aggressive ones will literally get in the boat to come after you," says Mr. Register.
He fattens hatchlings in large enclosed tanks that look like mud huts, heating the water to 90 degrees to speed up their metabolism. To prevent them from brawling and scraping each other's skins, he keeps them in the dark.
Before harvesting them when they're about two years old, Mr. Register grades the quality of their hides, which means wading in with the creatures-who are four-and-a-half feet long by then-gripping their heads, and yanking them up for inspection.
He kills them with a .22-caliber bullet shot to the ear, or by severing their spines with a knife. Then he skins them and packages the meat.
As recently as four years ago, say farmers, hides could fetch $8 a centimeter from European buyers who might turn them into $15,000 handbags. Then the economy tanked, and along with it, demand for luxury goods. Today, the overall luxury market is picking up, but skins sell for $4 a centimeter, says Mr. Register.
Some farmers have had to shut down. Debbie Stewart was laid off from Froehlich's Gator Farm in Christmas, Fla., when its founder decided to retire because of the downturn. Nicknamed "Little Debbie," at 5'3" and 100 pounds, Ms. Stewart was known for her prowess with a skinning knife.
"I can have a five-footer skinned, deboned and processed in about 15 minutes," she says. She's now managing a bar and playing bass in a band.
The gator farmers say their marketing efforts have partly focused on convincing people that it's okay to eat and wear alligator. Though the animals were removed from the federal endangered-species list in 1987, some people still think the animals are at risk of dying off.
Hoping to boost sales of hides in emerging luxury markets, some farmers have traveled to trade shows in Russia and China.
At a recent gathering of farmers in Sebring, Fla., Brian Wood, owner of All American Gator Products, floated another idea: product placement. He invited Shari Cedar, a former producer of "The Real Housewives of Atlanta," to give a presentation. Among her ideas, she says: getting celebrities and athletes to wear alligator-skin garb by creating "the next 'It' alligator bag."
Farmers are counting on allies in the legislature to block Mr. Scott in the new legislative session, which started on Tuesday.
Gator farmer Ms. Tillman says she's all for stanching Florida's red ink.
But, she adds, if Mr. Scott "slows down and pays attention, he will realize that our little group is not where the leak is."
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