Move Over, Smokey : Samson Mania Is Bigger Than Ever, Nearly a Year After Capture of Hot-Tubbing Bear

He recently put on a few extra pounds. (Who among us hasn’t?) He couldn’t resist a dip in the pool, a little hot tub action after a long day. (We should be so lucky.) And he loved to swipe avocados off the neighbors’ trees. (We’d like to say we’re above this. . . .)

Oh, how the world loves Samson, the tubby, spa-hopping, avocado-poaching bear that made international headlines after spending last summer lumbering about a rustic Monrovia neighborhood.

In September, he was captured by state game wardens and scheduled for execution until Gov. Pete Wilson issued a last-minute reprieve, thanks to the neighbors’ campaign to save him. The story could have ended there, with Samson taking away a hefty pile of press clippings from Germany, Britain and Australia.

But nearly a year later, Samson mania is taking on a life of its own, turning an old bear with rotting teeth into an unlikely poster boy. Fans snap up $1 Samson posters, 50-cent postcards and $9 stuffed bears. Schoolchildren sell 25-cent coupons good for a “bear hug,” donating proceeds toward Samson’s new home-to-be under construction at the Orange County Zoo. Curious compatriots, from Rush Limbaugh’s fan club in Orange County to fans of singer Jimmy Buffett (“Margaritaville”), overwhelm the zoo with offers of help.

Why? Maybe, some say, because Samson seems just like us.

“We kind of caught him [on video] doing such human things,” said Gary Potter, 45, in whose back-yard pool and hot tub Samson once frolicked as a free bear. “He’s in the pool, snoozing, looking like he wants a beer. . . . Everyone just fell in love with him.”

Potter is among the smitten. Recently, with TV news cameras dogging him, he visited Samson.

Samson, he said, gives people hope that they can coexist with wildlife, despite the freeways, the traffic, the high-rises that symbolize a faceless urban sprawl.

“Samson is a very big symbol of the problem and the plight of innocent animals coming out of the wilderness and [the dilemma of] what are we going to do about it?” he said. “That’s where Samson’s celebrity is going to help with all the other bears.”

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Although Orange County might be Samson’s new home, Monrovia is intent on claiming him as a native son. In June, city officials handed out stuffed Samson bears at the National Civic League’s meeting in Cleveland, where Monrovia was named one of 10 All-America communities.

Potter and his wife, Connie, put out a Samson newsletter with updates on the bear and a list of 10 corporate donors. Friday nights, at downtown Monrovia’s weekly street festival, the Potters sell Samson merchandise, donating proceeds to his zoo fund.

Last September, the Potters said, they had no idea that the bear who wandered into their back yard would turn them into wildlife activists. Now, they spend much of their free time telling Samson’s tale, cautioning people that he was one lucky bear. Other bears that lose their fear of humans are shot by game wardens for safety reasons.

“We let him kind of wander around and do his own thing,” said Potter, who runs the Coachcraft auto-body repair shop in Monrovia. “That would be the downfall of him. Once they get used to [people], they’re going to stay.”