We're Going In: The Reptile House Marlin Perkins Built

Where the Komodo Dragon lurks, the Bushmaster slithers, and we hear the hiss of history

It’s like something out of a children’s book — a pair of heavy doors guarded by stone tortoises. Push these doors open, and they lead you back into the era of World War II. A bygone era when zoos weren’t geared toward toddlers. When museums had dark enclosures and brass rails, catering to scholars and scientists.

This is the Buffalo Zoo’s Reptile House, born in the World War II era under the eye of a young Marlin Perkins, a few years before he became host of “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom,” and became a household name.

Perkins was then the curator of the Buffalo Zoo. His Reptile House, like the Zoo’s Elephant House, is protected by historic landmark status. Step inside, and you’re suspended in time — seeing what visitors saw generations ago.

On a recent Saturday, the stone emporium beckoned. It was Reptile and Amphibian Day — a perfect excuse to revisit this hall of snakes and lizards. As I greeted the carved turtles — the work of WPA artisans — and pushed open the doors, I breathed in the same scent I remembered from childhood. It gave me the shivers. I smiled.

We’re going in! The adventure continues below …

Shipments of Toads

The lights are low. The air, thick with that ancient aroma, is warm and quiet. Voices murmur softly in a dozen languages. The Reptile House is a world of whispers, not shouts. Something here invites silence and respect.

The polished bricks of the building’s interior could remind you of your grade school gym. The vintage brass rails gleam.

Camryn Fisher, the Keeper of the Puerto Rican Crested Toad, stood at a center table. Her tiny charge, hidden in a small kennel, was little more than a dark shape.

“He doesn’t want to be seen,” she smiled, offering a fond apology for the shy creature.

Camryn grew up dreaming of this work. “I was always the kid who wanted a snake instead of a bunny rabbit,” she laughed.

She spoke proudly of the Zoo’s decades-long partnership with Toronto to rescue these toads from extinction. Once thought gone forever, they now thrive — thanks to overnight shipments of toads we send to Puerto Rico, in coolers marked “This Side Up.”

And yes — the toad is cute, when you finally glimpse him.

Other residents here also charm in their own ways.

The Fly River Turtle glides around his pool like a dancer with big feet. A keeper drops food into the water, and the turtle eats with slow delight, clutching his meal between webbed paws. A crowd gathers, whispering in awe.

Even the mighty Komodo dragon — this fortress’s headline act — looks peaceful in his warm enclosure. “He’s a puppy,” his keeper says. And for a moment, you believe her. Then he flicks that forked tongue, and you remember who’s really in charge.

Snake hide and seek

The Reptile House once featured a marvelous little sign, warning us: “Do Not Rap on Glass.”

It showed a gentleman in a fedora tapping on the glass, which promptly shattered — the snake lunging for him. We need those signs back. Surely they’re sitting in a drawer somewhere.

I also miss the alligators, once piled in a glorious heap, one moving and all of them following — eeuwww!

The Komodo dragon now occupies that old alligator pen, Camryn told me. That is not a bad consolation prize. Standing where my 8-year-old self had stood, I felt a similar thrill. I heard the chirping of crickets. Was it a soundtrack, piped out of some hidden speaker? Or were they real crickets, to be fed to this beast? Who knew?

The dragon made its debut when the Zoo reopened after its 2019 renovation. On that festive occasion, Buffalo also welcomed the Bushmaster — the largest venomous snake in the Western Hemisphere. Its name sounds like a roller coaster, and it delivers the same jolt of fear. I saw it, coiled in its cage. I couldn’t look away.

Most of the snake enclosures are unchanged. The serpents still play hide and seek, blending with their surroundings. Spotting them is part of the thrill — a grim little game that never gets old.

When you step back outside, the sunlight feels too bright.

You’ve been somewhere older, quieter — a museum of scales and slithers, built by hands that believed in both science and mystery.

Marlin Perkins couldn’t have known that his wartime hall of snakes would outlast the tanks and headlines of 1942. But here it is — still waiting for the next curious soul to push open those bronze doors.

To hear the hiss of history.

We dare you.

Have you been to the Buffalo Zoo’s reptile house? Have you been there long ago? What’s your favorite animal in there? What gives you the creeps?