by Charlotte Gutzmer
Peering over the devoid field that was once a zoo teeming with life, Carson Vaughan wondered how it came to be like this. What had caused the once popular zoo to become an empty-caged ghost town? None of the locals would tell him about the tragedy that had occurred there, but the tension was palpable. Royal, Nebraska and its zoo had a story to share, Carson knew. But what was it?
Carson Vaughan is an award-winning nonfiction author, freelance journalist, and editor who finds beautiful stories in places often dismissed in what some might call cultural deserts. His debut nonfiction book, Zoo Nebraska: The Dismantling of an American Dream, has garnered critical acclaim (2020 Nebraska Book Award) for its expertly written portrayal of the rural Midwest and the rise and fall of Royal, Nebraska’s uniquely intriguing zoo. On Tuesday, May 11th at 7pm, join him in his upcoming CVWG craft talk: “Distilling The Extra From The Ordinary: Writing And Reporting In ‘Flyover Country’”.
I recently had the pleasure of chatting with Carson Vaughan about Zoo Nebraska and his upcoming craft talk. Read on to learn all about his book-writing process, how he discovers stories, and how his experiences as a freelance journalist shapes his view of the world.
Charlotte Gutzmer: Zoo Nebraska is a beautifully written portrait of the rise and fall of a zoo in Royal, Nebraska that explores the dynamics between humanity, animals, and politics. Where did you encounter this history, and what drew you to writing about it?
Carson Vaughan: I had never heard of Royal, Nebraska, or its infamous roadside zoo until 2009. My girlfriend and her mother were giving me a personal tour of northeast Nebraska, and as we passed through Royal, roughly 30 minutes from their farm, they casually mentioned a shooting and somebody named Reuben. I didn't know a single detail, had never heard of this tragic event, and immediately had more questions than they could answer. We pulled off the highway to take a closer look at the derelict zoo, and as luck would have it, the state of Nebraska had placed a small flyer on the chain link fence advertising a public auction to be held the very next weekend. Still sniffing around for an appropriate senior journalism thesis, I drove back the next weekend. It would be another few weeks, maybe months, before I understood exactly what story the story was, but I left that auction buzzing with excitement. The locals refused to discuss the day the chimpanzees broke loose, and it was exactly that resistance that let me know I was on to something. The more time I spent in Royal, the more certain I was that beneath the novelty of an exotic animal escape in rural Nebraska there lay a gripping story reflective of the human condition at large--a story, in other words, that would hopefully resound beyond the community of Royal alone.
CG: As a freelance journalist from central Nebraska, you seem quite skillful at depicting the compelling charm of life in rural communities. Moreover, your sense of time and place seems to be rooted not only in the history of the area, but also in the people who inhabit it. Can you share a bit about how these skills developed throughout your experiences writing about this region?
CV: Not every story allows for it, but in my longform work, I tend to get a little obsessive about the context. In the case of Zoo Nebraska, I could hardly tell the story of this bizarre roadside zoo without explaining the man who first willed it to life, and I could hardly tell the story of its founder without explaining the community that raised him. Oftentimes these contextual details fall to the cutting room floor, but I firmly believe that one's grasp of the history and culture of a place -- whether or not they're frankly acknowledged in the text -- is reflected in the tone of the prose. As a reader, there are few things I find more compelling and refreshing in a piece of writing, be it fiction, nonfiction or poetry, than a confident and authoritative voice, and that sort of authority is often hard won. In short: context informs everything, and I try my best to develop that context as thoroughly and practically as possible in order to give my readers a better sense of who, exactly, they're dealing with.
CG: In the description of your upcoming craft talk, you write that it’s “easy to dismiss America’s rural spaces as cultural deserts, devoid of the intrigue we afford the cities or the coasts or the exotic landscapes of the imagination.” Can you share a bit about how your writing of Zoo Nebraska may have led you to this conclusion, or how this conclusion influenced your writing of Zoo Nebraska?
“I was born and raised in a small town in central Nebraska, and the local histories I grew up with were every bit as exciting as the histories that Hollywood and national media typically portrayed. I carried that philosophy with me as I approached Zoo Nebraska, and yet in my decade of reporting on this zoo and this community, that philosophy was further solidified every day”
CV: You've posed a great question, because both of these variations are accurate. Well before approaching Zoo Nebraska, I had a pretty firm conviction that American culture was neglecting -- much to its detriment -- the stories of rural America. I was born and raised in a small town in central Nebraska, and the local histories I grew up with were every bit as exciting as the histories that Hollywood and national media typically portrayed. I carried that philosophy with me as I approached Zoo Nebraska, and yet in my decade of reporting on this zoo and this community, that philosophy was further solidified every day. As the full picture of Zoo Nebraska developed, I understood that all those universal themes that make a great story were alive and well in this town of 65 people.
CG: Zoo Nebraska examines the relationship between humans and animals—how does your relationship with animals and nature influence your work?
CV: You're not wrong in your assertion that Zoo Nebraska examines the relationship between humans and animals, but if I'm being completely honest, I was always much more engaged with the relationship between humans and other humans. Between Dick Haskin and his father, or Dick Haskin and the Jensen family. Or between the Jensen family and Kenneth Schlueter. Between the zoo board members and the volunteers. Between the locals and the outsiders. All that said, there was an undeniable bond between Dick Haskin and Reuben the chimpanzee, and to ignore that particular dynamic would have been not only a lost opportunity, but an inaccurate portrayal of nearly every aspect of the zoo. Nothing in Zoo Nebraska would have played out were it not for Dick's initial love of Reuben, which painted his every move for the next two and half decades.
I'm not sure my own relationship with animals influenced my work to any serious degree -- I have a dog but don't consider myself an animal guy by any stretch of the imagination -- though I am incredibly concerned about our environment and the natural world. Part of my fascination with Dick's story is the purity with which he approached working with great apes. When he first learned about their endangerment, and the destruction of their natural habitat, he devoted himself to the cause and never looked back. Sadly, that drive was corrupted by time and circumstance, and what began as an incredibly admirable dream ended in the death of three more chimpanzees.
CG: What are the rewards and difficulties of being a freelance journalist? How does one even begin?
“The rewards of freelancing are manifold: the freedom to pursue your own interests, the flexible schedule, the opportunity to work with so many different editors and publications and across multiple mediums. On the other hand, the pay often fluctuates wildly, and the grind never stops”
CV: The rewards of freelancing are manifold: the freedom to pursue your own interests, the flexible schedule, the opportunity to work with so many different editors and publications and across multiple mediums. On the other hand, the pay often fluctuates wildly, and the grind never stops, and it can often be a lonely pursuit, removed as it is from a traditional workplace where you'd be regularly interacting with peers and coworkers. I began immediately after graduate school by pitching as many stories as I could every week. Only a tiny percentage stuck, but those that did often led to my next assignment. The first few years were hardly profitable, but I've slowly climbed that hill and am still climbing it today. Some weeks are easier than others. And some weeks never end.
CG: Many of your essays, as well as your book, focus on fascinating stories discovered in unexpected places. How do you know when something is “story worthy?” And what draws you to uncovering these stories in rural culture most of all?
CV: I'm drawn to rural stories because they're so rarely told, and when they are, they're often told poorly or by outsiders with no real understanding of the cultural milieu they're representing. I'm not sure I can pinpoint one single trigger, but I do feel a mission to bring these rural stories to a larger audience. That said, I feel no obligation to write purely positive stories. I'm not a public relations manager or booster for rural America, but I do feel that rural America has been simplified to a detrimental degree. Whether positive or negative, I consider any story that complicates our understanding of rural America a win for America large.
CG: As your award-winning debut nonfiction book, Zoo Nebraska has seen a lot of success and acclaim. What advice would you give to someone who is writing their debut work of nonfiction?
CV: Allow yourself to ask stupid questions and keep asking stupid questions until they don't sound stupid anymore. Read widely. Read fiction and poetry, too. And always remember that you're writing about real people with very real lives. Your final portrayal may not be entirely rosy, but it should be true, and it should always be approached with empathy.
So what are you waiting for? Register today for Carson Vaughan’s craft talk so you, too, can learn how to distill the ‘Extra’ from the ‘Ordinary’.