Can this home for apes and monkeys count as a sanctuary?

Alone inside his metal cage, Magillan pushes a toy scooter, round and round, while his concrete floor bakes in the Florida sun.Trees, shrubs and grass grow outside the chimpanzee’s enclosure at the Suncoast Primate Sanctuary in Palm Harbor — always beyond his reach. The 56-year-old chimp has lush greenery inside his cage, too. But it’s a mirage, a painting on the wall.Over the decades, many of the park’s 50 apes and monkeys have been sent here from laboratories or by private owners. Others were born at the park. Volunteer caretakers provide the animals fresh fruits and vegetables and keep tidy grounds for visitors paying $15 a ticket.At accredited primate sanctuaries in North America, of which there are less than a dozen, chimps and monkeys live in social groups with space to climb and forage — needs that are almost as vital to them as food and water.But solitary, concrete cages have kept Suncoast from qualifying as a sanctuary or shaking its reputation as a roadside zoo.In his 50 years at Suncoast, Magillan has never lived with grass beneath his feet.The need to do right by these animals weighs on Christy Holley, Suncoast’s unpaid president. A new board of directors of the nonprofit has committed to reimagining the grounds but does not have the means to make it happen.Holley first volunteered 30 years ago. Pitted against the family that founded the park, she wrested control with a group of allies in 2022. She has sought financial records from the nonprofit’s former treasurer — a man now in prison for murder. She has inherited outdated grounds without the money to make substantive changes. And now members of the founders’ family are preparing to go to court for control of Suncoast’s land.Her animals, in the meantime, pace.On a recent Saturday, the Tampa Bay Times witnessed four primates at Suncoast exhibiting repetitive behaviors, which can be a sign of psychological trauma brought on by stress and boredom in captivity.A chimpanzee named Harry, born here in 1989, circled his cage in solitude before bursting into a fit of jerking, skipping movements. Afterward, he sat in a corner, rocking his head side to side, over and over.Nearby, a black-capped capuchin monkey in a chain-link cage marched in wobbly figure eights, ignoring the plastic children’s toys.Animal welfare experts admire the dedication of volunteers like Holley but say these enclosures prevent Suncoast from meeting the animals’ most basic needs.Simply calling yourself a sanctuary doesn’t make it so.“Clinging to this Pollyannaish dream is causing these animals to suffer,” said Brittany Peet, general counsel for captive animal law enforcement at People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals Foundation. “We need to start making plans to get them into sanctuaries now so that these animals don’t die in these enclosures.”During 15-hour days cleaning cages, fixing water pipes and scrubbing drains, Holley pleads her case to the animals.“Just give me a little bit of time,” she says.To understand the history of Suncoast, you have to go back to the Great Depression, when medicine shows and carnivals served as rare indulgences for the masses.Bob Noell met his wife, Anna Mae, and performed at these shows as a juggler and magician during the 1930s before moving into animal acts. They started small, with little rodents and a skunk.At Mardi Gras in 1940, an overall-clad chimpanzee caught their eye, wheeling around on a tricycle. Snookie the chimp would be a game changer. The Noells bought him for $300 — about $6,500 today.Commonly at these traveling exhibitions, bigger crowds flocked to the more outlandish spectacles. Bob Noell found a way to capitalize. One day, he offered a heckler a few bucks to wrestle Snookie, who won handily. The audience roared.Noell’s boxing show was born. The couple acquired more chimps and fit them with muzzles and boxing gloves. People paid $2 to watch contestants try to earn $5 for each second they held the apes’ shoulders on the floor. According to lore, the apes never lost.At a time when scientists were beginning to understand the intelligence of primates, the couple documented their undeniable personalities and abilities.Snookie tore off pieces of his favorite foods and stored them in the corner of his cage. When he wanted a banana, he’d wave a bit of a peel until he got it. If he wanted bread, he held up an old wrapper.The growing entourage needed a place to stay during the winter so the Noells bought land along Alt. U.S. 19 in Palm Harbor. They opened Noell’s Ark Chimp Farm 70 years ago. It grew into an 8-acre breeding ground and zoo, becoming both a kitschy-old Florida attraction and an animal welfare concern.Anna Mae Noell compared her affection for the animals to her feelings for her own family.Pictures show the Noells’ grandchildren hugging gorillas tied to a chain in the yard. They played chase with the chimps and snuggled the babies in their bed.But living conditions for animals at the Chimp Farm drew condemnation from the Humane Society of the United States as early as 1971.Primates were kept in sterile, dungeonlike cages with thick metal bars — just large enough to pace ceaselessly. Baby chimps were displayed in the front of the park in boxes the size of large fish tanks.Holley and fellow board member Nancy Nagel began volunteering at the Chimp Farm in the 1990s, lured by the chance to work with such creatures. Both remembered sobbing the first time they stepped inside the gates.“They were loved by the people that were here,” Nagel said, “but it was a horrible situation.”In 1999, the U.S. Department of Agriculture shut down the Chimp Farm. Regulators chastised the owners for cages that were too small, rusted and unsafe.By then, the Noells’ granddaughter Debbie Cobb ran the park with its roughly five dozen chimps, gorillas, monkeys, reptiles and a bear. Without a license, the animals could no longer be exhibited.Cobb borrowed $250,000 from her uncle and rebranded as the Suncoast Primate Sanctuary Foundation. The money went toward construction of a great ape building with outdoor enclosures connected to individual indoor animal sleeping quarters. Smaller monkeys got concrete-floored cages, similar to what made up the Chimp Farm. The refurbished grounds obtained state and federal licenses to reopen in 2008.Suncoast grew under Cobb as an attraction for tourists and locals. Welfare groups, meanwhile, remained alarmed.They described the refurbished accommodations as a roadside zoo exploiting beleaguered primates. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals released video of Cobb’s monkeys spinning in circles and chimps rocking back and forth. The World Animal Protection nonprofit labeled Suncoast a “pseudo sanctuary.”In 2015, scrutiny shifted internally to Suncoast’s books. A longtime volunteer identified a $45,000 discrepancy between bank statements and the bookkeeper’s records.The three-member board of directors — volunteers Holley and Nagel and Jon Cobb, Debbie Cobb’s husband — convened an emergency meeting.What followed can best be described as an eight-year legal civil war.Nagel and Holley demanded more financial records from Jon Cobb, the treasurer. He couldn’t provide them, and in May 2016 the women replaced him with volunteer Ken Peltier.Debbie Cobb responded by gathering Suncoast volunteers that summer. They voted out Nagel, Holley and Peltier and reinstated her husband, along with two allies.That prompted the ousted board members to sue. Less than a year later, Jon Cobb would land in prison for murder after he shot a man over a dispute unrelated to Suncoast.Six years after the suit was filed, a judge ruled that Debbie Cobb couldn’t topple the old board. She has had no involvement since. Holley, Nagel and Peltier were restored. On their first day back in summer 2022, they enlisted sheriff’s deputies to escort them to the front gates.The new board set out to make changes. They spent $11,000 to repair the animals’ water filtration system and $35,000 clearing junk and dead trees. A welder fashioned upgraded hammocks for the cages from old fire hoses. Enrichment programs were added for the apes and monkeys, including food puzzles and scented blankets. Volunteers painted the chimps’ barren walls with murals of forests and seascapes. They worked with a veterinarian to create specialized diets for the smaller primates. Gone were the days of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.Jay Pratte, an animal behavior consultant, visited Suncoast in April with a lawyer from People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Pratte said he witnessed much more attention given to the primates than his last visit in 2019. He also noticed significant cosmetic improvements.“You can see they are trying,” Pratte said.But, he added, the concrete cages thwart meaningful change.Plastic children’s toys are no replacement for social groups and complex climbing structures that primates need for mental wellness, Pratte said.“There is a level of expectation for what you want to see in a sanctuary, and it’s not ‘Well, everybody here really loves the animals,’” he said.Late last month, volunteers passed out snacks of tomatoes, cucumbers, okra and lettuce. Cages were clean, and whirring fans staved off the heat.While many of the small monkeys live in pairs, cage after cage hold deeply social primates left alone. A Japanese snow macaque, a spider monkey, a capuchin, two baboons, eight chimpanzees — each peered out from isolated chain-link and metal barriers. These animals have instincts to bond in groups, sometimes for life.In another cage, there was Pongo. He came to Suncoast in 2009 as a young orangutan from a South Carolina zoo.Debbie Cobb had turned Pongo into a main attraction. She advertised ticket specials and kids’ activities to celebrate the orangutan’s birthday each year.The 400-pound ape is relegated to one of the older concrete enclosures — a relic from the original Chimp Farm. In the wild, orangutans spend most of their lives high above the forest floor in trees, nesting and foraging. They’re intelligent problem solvers. Two years ago, scientists in Indonesia documented an orangutan chewing leaves from a medicinal plant and applying the juices to treat a gaping wound on its cheek.At Suncoast, Pongo sits with no leaves, nothing to climb.He stares through thick metal bars at gawking visitors. His cage features a hammock and plastic barrels and not much else.“They all just look kind of sad,” said Megan White of New Port Richey during a July visit with her 9-year-old daughter. “You can see it in their faces.”Holley isn’t satisfied with the conditions either. But over the past two years, she said the board has been consumed with restarting the foundation from scratch. Their attorney is still battling to obtain a complete accounting of Suncoast’s finances from Debbie Cobb’s tenure.“I cry every day because sometimes it feels like I’m not moving fast enough,” Holley said.Before she was dropped off at Suncoast 20 years ago, Sheila the chimpanzee lived in someone’s home — in a cage the size of a refrigerator.Now said to be 76 years old, her caretakers consider her their sweetest chimp. She saves cups and gently waves them at volunteers when she wants more juice — much like Snookie once did.She gathers blankets into a nest and sleeps on a shelf inside her sheltered quarters.About 15,000 primates are estimated to live as pets in the United States like Sheila once did. The exact figures are impossible to know because of a lack of federal regulation. Constant captive breeding has fueled the need for sanctuaries.When exotic pet owners find themselves in over their heads, they often turn to places like Suncoast.Dependent on humans, these animals likely wouldn’t survive in the wild, or in what’s left of their native habitats.But the quality of the places where they end up varies.While the Agriculture Department regulates zoos and parks like Suncoast that exhibit animals, government standards require little more than cages that are large enough for them to stand and turn around.The Global Federation of Animal Sanctuaries, meanwhile, accredits parks that go far beyond what’s required by law. They must be nonprofits. They can’t breed or sell the animals. They rely on paid employees to provide greater stability than a place staffed with volunteers. They can only offer limited public access. They have budgets and endowments that enable them to care for animals for life.Perhaps the most important factor centers around the accommodations. Enclosures must come as close as possible to an experience in the wild. A concrete and metal cage won’t cut it.They require natural vegetation and space for primates to be able to live instinctively — running when it suits them, climbing, foraging and bonding in social groups.Eleven accredited primate sanctuaries exist in North America, most in the southern United States.The closest to Tampa Bay is the Center for Great Apes in Wauchula, founded by Patti Ragan in 1993. At the site in Hardee County, 67 chimps and orangutans live in groups in three- and four-story domed enclosures, some the length of a tennis court.The habitats have climbing structures and vines for swinging. An elevated tunnel system runs nearly 2 miles through the property for the animals to rotate between enclosures.At Save the Chimps, a sanctuary in Fort Pierce, more than 200 rescued chimpanzees live in groups spread across verdant 3-acre islands.Last year, a video there went viral showing a chimp named Vanilla in awe of the grass and open sky after a lifetime spent under roofs in a research lab and zoo.Monkeys and apes are complex, highly intelligent animals. The DNA of chimps is nearly identical to humans. They can create tools, like spears for hunting. They mourn their dead.In the wild, the gestures chimps use to communicate vary group to group, according to Mary Lee Jensvold, a psychologist and primate behavior expert.“In other words, they have culture,” Jensvold said.Depriving them of companionship and communities is comparable to solitary confinement, according to Liz Tyson, programs director for Born Free USA, a welfare organization and sanctuary in Texas.Hollow experiences in captivity can change a mammal’s brain chemistry, research has shown, leading to self-harming behavior, like plucking out hair or biting off fingers. Many develop abnormal tics, like spinning in circles or rocking, evident at times among some of the Suncoast primates.At the Born Free sanctuary an hour from the Mexican border, 228 monkeys are grouped in natural, open-top habitats that range from a quarter of an acre to 5 acres. Monkeys coming from cramped quarters that are unable to cope with the new surroundings are paired in smaller areas. No monkey lives alone, according to Tyson.“Being fed, watered and protected from the weather is not enough,” Tyson said. “It’s just not enough.”Over the past two years, the board at Suncoast has dreamed of building domed structures like the ones at the Center for Great Apes so the animals can live in groups.“We’re killing ourselves to do everything we can for them,” said Lori Weltz, who joined an expanded Suncoast board.The cost of a single dome to house two or three chimps could exceed $200,000, according to Valerie Taylor, executive director of the Global Federation of Animal Sanctuaries.Suncoast isn’t making that kind of money.In the first quarter of this year, the park brought in $98,000 between admissions, donations and fundraisers. It offers an annual pass to visitors at $150, of which it sold four, records reviewed by the Times show. The cost to run the park and feed the animals for those four months was $80,000. It made a small margin only because Suncoast is run entirely by volunteers.Nagel said the board has begun planning for an initial dome to house about a dozen small monkeys that she estimates could cost $20,000. But the board has not yet consulted with Pinellas County about the feasibility of multiple domes on the property. And the park would need several. To date, Suncoast has raised about $16,000 that could go toward any enclosure upgrades.Holley doesn’t want to give up hopes of building appropriate enclosures on the park’s land but acknowledges it will be an uphill battle. Sending away the animals is not her first choice.“We deserve a little bit of time to try to do it,” Holley said. “They’re my family. I’ve grown up with these guys. Does that mean I can’t make the hard decision or the right decision? No. Ultimately it comes down to what’s best for them.”If Suncoast agreed to transfer their animals to any of the 11 accredited sanctuaries, these parks would have to coordinate to make room, said Erika Fleury, former executive director of the North American Primate Sanctuary Alliance.Even when space is available, introducing monkeys and apes into social groups can take weeks or span years depending on their ability to adjust to their surroundings.After the California-based Wildlife Waystation unexpectedly shut down in 2019, it took three years and $4 million to find places for the 42 chimps left behind. Sanctuaries needed to build additional accommodations or wait for space to open up.Fleury expressed concern that waiting much longer to relocate Suncoast’s primates could create a similar crisis.“The worry is that problems could become so insurmountable that the facility has to suddenly shut its doors and won’t be able to afford care for its animals,” Fleury said, “and then there’s an emergency on everyone’s hands.”In the background, a long-simmering legal battle looms large.Nearly a decade ago, Debbie Cobb transferred the park’s land from her grandmother’s trust to the Suncoast foundation and used it as collateral for a loan. Her relatives, fellow beneficiaries of the trust, sued her. A trial to determine who owns the land begins Sept. 30.It’s unclear whether the former operator will fight to keep the land in the foundation’s name now that she no longer has any role at the park. Debbie Cobb and her attorney declined multiple requests to comment for this story.Cobb and two family members are beneficiaries of the trust. If the land goes back to them, it raises more questions about what the future holds.One afternoon in May, a volunteer crouched in front of Pongo’s enclosure and passed a canvas and paint through the bars. Pongo slowly ran his fingers through the yellow, blue and purple and dragged his tongue across the handheld canvas.Art had been made.As a reward, Pongo earned a chocolate pudding cup and a peppermint.The painting is considered an enrichment activity used to stimulate the animals’ minds. But there are side benefits. At around $100 each, art made by the chimps and orangutans helps raise money for the park.In the gift shop, a display at the front gate, visitors browse magnets with chimps’ faces, postcards and stuffed animals. Bonnie Collins and Bill Marcinkowski passed through on vacation from Vermont. They drove by the sign for a sanctuary and decided to check it out.Collins said the volunteers were friendly and the place was clean. But watching restless animals alone in their concrete cages, it felt like a stretch to call this place a sanctuary, she said.The couple paused in front of Scotty, a hamadryas baboon, a former pet who landed at Suncoast in 2015.In Northeast Africa and Arabia, these baboons congregate by the dozens. Unlike tree-dwelling orangutans like Pongo, across from him, baboons roam deserts and rocky cliffs on all fours.Baboons are among the fiercest of monkeys. Here, a subdued Scotty catches glimpses of Pongo on the opposite side of the visitors from Vermont.Collins and Marcinkowski placed peanuts in a canister so Scotty could reach the food.“I’m doing it, but at the same time I’m sad because I’m making him entertain me,” Collins said. “And it’s not really his job.”Activities like this aren’t allowed at accredited sanctuaries because they encourage animals to beg. Holley said she has stopped the practice because some of her monkeys were eating too many peanuts.But on this day, Scotty took the food and waited for more.

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