Gator laments changes from a 'five-horse town'

Most anyone who has been to Buffalo Chips knows him.

He looks like a wooden carving. Like a cowboy decoration planted at the end of the bar, sipping a cold Bud Light out of a short mug. His skin is tanned and weathered from too much sun, too often. His hands look worn and well-used. He looks stern.

If it weren't for his permanent post in the well-known restaurant (photographs of him in his younger years are even on the back of the menu), he might seem out of place.

It's just that the place has changed, he said.

Cars replaced horses. Homes replaced open space. The main road got "Old" tacked in front of it, as U.S. 41 was rerouted.

But Allen Christ — more commonly known as "Gator" — hasn't forgotten the town that took him in 44 years ago.

That was back when Bonita was a "five-horse town," he said.

"It was just like a little paradise," he said. "Then all hell broke loose and they turned into a city."

Gator was 21 when he stumbled upon Bonita. The quaint town reminded him of home, of a little town in Louisiana. The climate was similar — the same muggy, hot, swamp he adored. The same climate that attracts alligators.

They call him Gator because he's known for raising baby alligators to 4-foot reptiles before releasing them into the wild. And when he says "raising," he means in the sleep-in-his-shower-stall sort of way. More than one has been raised in his trailer behind Buffalo Chips, he said.

"The customers loved it when he brought the gator in," said Stacey DeStephano, a server at Buffalo Chips. "They don't get to see stuff like that, up close and personal."

He's stopped raising alligators — for the most part, anyway — since he's gotten into a few scruffs with Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. State law prohibits the feeding of alligators and a license is needed to keep the animals.

"(Alligators) are independent like I am," said Gator, 65. "If you bother them or if you bother me, somebody's going to get bit."

All the staff at Buffalo Chips have found that out at one time or another. Gator, who has worked as a janitor at the restaurant for more than 20 years, starts work at 5:30 a.m., finishes at noon, drinks a few brews until 2 and goes home. Anyone who disrupts that schedule by making an afternoon house call might get greeted with a gun.

Except for that little quirk, "he's very laid-back," DeStephano said.

"He's been here forever," said DeStephano, who's worked at the restaurant for 13 years. "He doesn't say very much, he's very quiet."

No one knows much about him because there's not much to know, he said. His mother died when he was young. His father was a fisherman, but Gator thinks he's probably dead. He hasn't been to Louisiana since 1967 — the one and only time he went back to see his dad after he enlisted in the military.

Gator dropped out of high school in 10th grade and joined the Army at 17. After the service, he found himself in Bonita and just never left, he said.

He found work in a local nursery, where he learned to seed plants and flowers. A few years later, he found a small alligator in a canal west of Old 41 and childhood memories of raising alligators resurfaced.

His obsession with the reptiles started when he found a baby gator stuck in the mud near his home. His father told him to leave it alone. Didn't happen.

"I kept it in the house," he said. "We started feeding him. It was kind of fun, but the dog didn't like it."

He's been bit "a million times," he said. But he insists the animals aren't hard to train. And he'd rather have an alligator than the standard mutt, he said.

"They don't have fur. They don't bark and meow. They don't mess on the floor," he said.

His only pets now are the feral cats in the alley, but Gator says he's not lonely. His weekday routine and Sunday fishing trips — and the occasional alligator — are all he needs.