The Lizard Man Back to Bike Stories // Back to the Weeville Home Page
The Herald, Friday, Sept. 29, 1989
Cyclist tracks lizard
Jimmy Buffet's newest album is called "Off to See The Lizard." In the title
track, a group of children gather around a superstitious lady as she describes a
red iguana that turned lava into gold. The kids then embarked upon a great
adventure into the bay. They were off to see the lizard. "Deja, deja, deja vu.
Believe it and it will come true."
In the spirit of fearless adventure, I designed myself a long weekend trip to
the midsection of the state. I was off to see the lizard man.
For anyone who somehow missed out on the lizard man hoopla, the story goes like
this. An alleged 7-foot swamp monster terrified a young man named Chris Davis
as he changed a tire on the road through Lee County's Scape Ore Swamp. His tale
quickly was followed by reports of damaged cars, missing animals and other
mayhem that would logically follow in the wake of an unearthly creature on a
binge. The whole commotion flared and died some months ago, but not before it
put the small town of Bishopville firmly on the map.
The hot 70-mile ride through the "South Carolina Ozarks" south of Great Falls
left me exhausted in Camden, some 22 miles short of Bishopville. As I checked
into a Camden motel, I began my search for the elusive lizard man.
The proprietor of the motel seemed well versed on the subject. With a smile he
said, "The lizard man was a hoax." He went on to say that a real estate man had
made out best of all. This unnamed entrepreneur sold 6-by-8 foot tracts of
swampland. For only $490, the adventurous type could get a deed to the
property, a visor, T-shirt, canteen and a flashlight. It was the Lizard Man
Hunting Kit.
The motel operator also claimed that two marketing companies still are competing
for the rights to lizard man paraphernalia. When bucks are available,
controversy thrives.
I checked into my room and called the Chronicle-Independent, Camden's
newspaper. The lady on the line didn't have any new stuff on the lizard man,
and hadn't heard anything out of Bishopville for quite a while. She said she
learned about the lizard man by reading the story in The State newspaper. That
piece was the one that attracted the national media before the story spread
locally.
The motel operator recommended a nearby restaurant where I quizzed the
waitresses. They offered only idle comments, but the head waitress introduced
me to Dawn Mason, a radio personality with WPUB in Camden. Dawn wrote down two
sources to call when I arrived in Bishopville.
The bartender at the restaurant, a Bishopville resident, shared tales and
opinions that would tie in with others I would hear later. I was rapidly
becoming a supersleuth, hot on the lizard man's trail.
The next morning I made for Bishopville down SC 34. When I was about 10 miles
from town, I stopped at a store and generated some talk. I asked, "What happens
to a town the size of Bishopville when the national media descends for such a
bizarre reason?"
The lady behind the counter rolled her eyes. "There were cars lined up bumper
to bumper on both sides of the road, all waiting for the lizard man to come out
of the swamp."
A Columbia radio station had offered a million dollar bounty for his (or its)
live capture. All the locals could do was sit back and watch.
A customer came into the store and the lady behind the counter said, "Doris,
this is a newspaper man. What do you think about the lizard man?"
Doris looked at me in utter disgust. "I don't think about the lizard man at
all. Never."
"No comment," I laughed. "No comment," she answered sternly. I felt bad about
ruining her day. After all, this was supposed to be fun.
At the store I got complicated directions to where the thing actually happened.
I left SC 34 and bounced along on Lee County back roads. This was some very
lonesome country. The bugs in the bushes serenaded me as I counted the paved
roads to my turn. I finally found myself back on 34 without ever seeing any of
the "you can't miss it" landmarks that heralded the lizard man's lair.
I went on into Bishopville. The town reminded me of Chester with no hill. The
comfortable houses blended into a main street where businesses were welded into
block-long buildings.
I found the clothing store where I would ask for one of Dawn Mason's
references. Dawn's friend wasn't there, but the man running the store was
himself a lizard man aficionado. He had shipped lizard man shirts as far away
as Las Vegas. He gave me easy directions to the infamous spot in the swamp, a
course that would be on my way to an overnight stay in Sumter.
I found Browntown Road and went a couple of miles north. The road went sharply
downhill for the run across the floor of the swamp. I have to admit it's murky
and creepy down in there. It is very conducive to an "I wouldn't stop there at
night" attitude.
I was quick to notice a good-sized tree beside the road, recently splintered by
some strange and powerful force. Then I noticed the set of skid marks leading
right up to the tree. After looking high and low, I found no trace of any
monster in Scape Ore Swamp.
I heard the same theory several times. Contrary to the findings of a police
investigation, many locals feel sure the lizard man is actually a butterbean
farmer.
The farmer has a shed just across I-20 from the swamp. He had suffered repeated
thefts from his property and the locals guess he arranged himself for a good
dose of frontier (in this case, swamp) justice. He would scare the thieves away
once and for all. Perhaps Chris Davis got too close after the trap was set.
The farmer was long ago questioned and cleared by police. He emphatically
denied any involvement. The only supporting facts were he had reason for
vengeance and he was just about tall enough to dress up and play lizard man.
In any case, the real lizard man, whoever or whatever he is, remains at large.
None of the locals I spoke with suggest that the whole thing was merely a
figment of Chris Davis' imagination. They all think some living thing gave
Davis a real scare in 3-D.
One local merchant said, "I'd like to know who or what it was, but it doesn't
really matter. It brought our town a million dollars' worth of publicity when
we least expected it."
Back to Bike Stories // Back to the Weeville Home Page