Wildlife Service Scientist/Sleuths

ASHLAND, OREG.—The pharoah in the biblical story of Joseph suffered through seven lean years; biochemist Ken Goddard’s dry spell lasted even longer. For nine years, this U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service scientist was a voice crying in the wilderness, trying to convince the powers-that-be that the nation desperately needs a forensic laboratory to combat the growing illegal trade in wildlife products. And for most of those nine years, Goddard found his efforts stymied by tight budgets and doubting bureaucrats. So for Goddard, the current promise of years of plenty is doubly sweet. Seven months ago, the F&WS’s forensic laboratory—the first of its kind in the world—finally opened its doors in Ashland, Oreg., with Goddard as director. He’s still looking for more scientific sleuths to fill out his staff, but that’s a minor hurdle compared to what he’s been through. “I always believed I would win this,” he says, “but when the lab was actually funded I felt very much the way I did when my daughter was born: elated, amazed, disbelieving And then a big smile.” Goddard’s story is one of perserverance in the face of in the face of crime, and unlikely saviors to intrigue a Sherlock Holmes. In fact, Goddard had his first surprise—a nasty one—right after he signed on with the F&WS in 1979. The biochemist had been working as a crime lab director in southern California, earning $35.000, and investigating homicide and rape cases. “It was basic crime scene work,” he explains. “Collect the evidence, reconstruct what happened, and identify the evidence in the lab.” But his 10 years in the business had left him feeling less than fulfilled. “Police work is depressing because you’re not accomplishing much on a longterm basis,” he says. “You can help find the killer, but you don’t stop serial killing. I found I was becoming increasingly hardened, immune to shock.” That’s why Goddard welcomed the F&WS ‘S offer of an opportunity to start something new, thinking, “Oh boy, this could be fun.” The agency specifically asked him to help design and set up a forensic laboratory for investigating wildlife crime—an offer that seemed almost too good to be true. Unfortunately, it was too good to be true. As it turned out the agency wasn’t quite sure whether it really needed a fullblown crime lab. Thus, says Goddard, “I was, in reality, hired as a consultant. I had to first show that they had a problem before I could do anything about solving it.” It took Goddard a full year to realize that the lab was not something that was going to happen overnight, that the U.S. government at the time had neither the money nor the desire to actually build such a lab, and that his real job was an educational one. “I was startled, disappointed at first,” he recalls. “But then I realized I had to teach the F&WS—and the game wardens, too—what forensic science could do.for them. And the wardens had to teach him the difference between police and wildlife cases.” Believing that with enough documentation he could persuade his superiors at F&WS about the need for immediate action on the lab, he set out to prove that the nation had a serious problem with uninvestigated wildlife crimes. He traveled across the country visiting wildlife enforcement agents and joined in their investigations, surveillance, and raids. “The first thing I learned is that the evidence in these cases is very different [from that confronted in police cases],” he says. “I’d never seized 10,000 pounds of ivory before or a hundred live peregrine falcons that then had to be cared for and fed. And I also learned that much of the evidence isn’t immediately identifiable—it’s the leather in a bunch of purses, or the oil in bottles of suntan lotions How do you prove which animal is involved?” Goddard had hoped to win his case with statistics illustrating the magnitude of the trade (currently estimated at $4 billion in the U.S. alone), but found these almost impossible to come by. Though they were busy with investigations, the wildlife agents had brought only a very few cases to court, and these involved primarily what Goddard terms “duck cases—you know, you have abunch of ducks that were shot illegally, and it’s very easy to show the evidence.” But the cases Goddard wished to pursue—the ones involving everything from powdered rhino horn pills to fancy crocodile boots, the ones that would require the investigative skills of a forensic scientist—were not coming to trial, simply because the agents could not prove in court that seized material came from an endangered species. But once Goddard came aboard, wildlife enforcement agents had some notable successes. Take the case of the blood that was too red. Six years ago, F&WS agents in Anchorage, Alaska, set up a sting operation, much like those used in drug cases, to bust a ring of white Alaskans who were making “Eskimo" artifacts from walrus tusks. The resulting pieces were then sold to art galleries as far away as New Jersey. But it wasn’t the forged art that interested the agents—it was the actual tusks. Since 1973, walruses—as well as whales, dolphins, and seals—have been under the protection of the Marine Mammals Act, and any trafficking in products derived from the protected animals is illegal. Artifacts made from animals killed prior to 1973 (and those taken today in subsistence hunting—using a sealskin boat and a harpoon) were, however, exempt from this ruling. It fell to the wildlife law enforcement agents to prove that the Alaskans were using "new" ivory. “We turned that case over to a forensic scientist at UC-Berkeley,” recalls Goddard, who personally handled part of the investigation. “And it was really a simple solution. If blood is recent, it’s red; if it’s old, it’s brown. There happened to be some red blood on the tusks, so we were able to prosecute.” The white Alaskans and their Eskimo suppliers (who were hunting with high-powered rifles from motor boats) lost all their ivory and received heavy fines and prison sentences. Few Brought To Trial But the successful prosecution of wildlife crimes—even with Goddard aboard—is all too rare. Though Goddard declines to site any figures (saying that he doesn’t want to give any tips to the “bad guys”), apparently very few cases requiring any forensic work have been brought to trial. “Unless we have a 100% identification of the species, showing that an endangered animal was used, then it’s very difficult to prosecute,” explains Goddard. Such identification can be particularly taxing, if not impossible, when the product is a purse made of reptile leather or suntan lotion supposedly containing sea turtle oil. “You need a specialist, someone who can analyze that product and someone who knows the animal, its morphology and taxonomy,” says Goddard. “If you’re going to stand up in court and say, ‘This is a bald eagle feather,’ you have to be right.” In short, Goddard was convinced that the country needed a sophisticated, high-tech laboratory dedicated to wildlife forensics. Trouble was, no one in authority agreed with him, and without a strong backer, Goddard knew he would never get congressional funding for his lab. “You have to remember that in the early eighties, everybody’s budget in Washington was being cut; no one wanted to hear about a new project that needed to be funded.” Never Give Up Increasingly frustrated, and all too aware that entire species were being exterminated, Goddard wrote memos, argued with bureaucrats, and begged for a small startup fund. “I never gave up because, one, I don’t like to lose and, two, this was a career goal that really meant something to me,” Goddard says about his perseverance. “If I’d turned away and gone back to police work, I would have regretted it the rest of my life. But it also probably helped that I was very naive about how government works. It never occurred to me that I could lose.” Finally, after six long years, he found what he needed: a low-key, but highly influential champion, Amos Enos. Now director of conservation programs at the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation in Washington, D.C., Enos was then a lobbyist with the Audubon Society. But he had also previously been employed as budget director at the F&WS and was well aware of both Goddard and Goddard’s problem. “Ken and I had lunch one day [after Enos became a lobbyist],” recalls Enos, and he was feeling very low, saying, ‘I’m just a body here. I just don’t know how to get this done.’ And I said, ‘Hell, let’s do it right. I can put together the politics.’” “Enos was as good as his word. He pitched the concept of a forensic lab to those congressional leaders known for their support of environmental issues—Representatives Sidney Yates [D-IlL], Les AuCoin [D- Oreg], and Silvio Conte [R-Mass.], and Senators Bob Packwood [R-Oreg.] and Mark Hatfield [R-Oreg.]—who all rallied to Goddard’s cause. In the fall of 1985, the Senate Appropriations Committee set aside $1 million for the laboratory, a small sum, but enough, Goddard says, “to get us going.” With the money, he drew up initial plans and began looking for a building site .Then came another stroke of good luck—and another unlikely character. Ralph Wehinger, a chiropractor and environmentalist in southern Oregon, learned of F&WS’s search for a site to construct the lab. Wehinger was then im- mersed in his own natural history museum dream (see story, page 17) and immediately thought that the laboratory could help him make the museum a reality. Says Wehinger: “I could see the forensics lab as a cornerstone for my own project; it would give the museum a much larger focal point—that of endangered species.” Within a week, he and his colleague, Ron Lamb, a biologist at Southern Oregon State College in Ashland, had contacted Oregon’s congressmen, and state and city officials. For a state that suffers from chronic unemployment but is equally concerned about maintaining its relatively pristine environment, the laboratory seemed the ideal type of new business venture. Every public leader Wehinger and Lamb contacted eagerly signed on to help bring the laboratory to Ashland. Sen. Robert Packwood, an early supporter of Wehinger’s plan, says: “I was struck by the incredible-potential that the combination of the laboratory and museum offered the college community and the public.” Together, Wehinger, Lamb, and the politicians made a proposal that the federal government could not re fuse. Southern Oregon State College offered to lease four acres of land in Ashland to F&WS for 98 years for the grand sum of $1.00, and, to further sweeten the deal, the state offered a grant to pay for an access road, and water, sewer, and electrical hookups. Goddard flew to Ashland for a visit and immediately liked all that he saw. “There was an excellent chemistry department at SOSC, and they all seemed eager to work with us. There was a good airport at Medford [15 miles north of Ashland], so evidence could be flown in. Most important, everyone in Ashland wanted to have us here; there was just overwhelming community support. So I advised Fish and Wildlife to select Ashland.” Goddard’s choice also meant that the initial $1 million funding could be used for building and equipping the lab. Early in 1986, Washington accepted Goddafd’s recommendation. After the long years of waiting, the next two proved, to be “a big kick” for Goddard. He designed the laboratory and selected all of its equipment (“the very latest in inves- tigative tools,” he says.) The laboratory boasts a scanning electron microscope designed by Scotland Yard, a mass spectrometer, a skin collection (for comparative analy ses), an immunology and serology lab to analyze blood and tissue, and fingerprint, photography, and ballistics labs. “Watching all this come about has been kind of like watching my daughter grow up,” Goddard says. “It’s something to smile about and enjoy.” Now, Goddard is hiring the staff. The lab officially opened in October 1988 with an operating budget of $1 million (like all federal projects, Congress must vote to renew the lab’s budget every year), but Goddard believes he is still ayear away from providing the type of expertise the wildlife agents need. After all, he explains, his staff of 15 forensic specialists will in many cases be forced to invent their identification techniques. “There are only eight or 10 wildlife forensic scientists in the world, people who have both the scientific knowledge and the legal know-how,” he says. “It’s a brand-new field, and we’re the pioneers.”. Virginia Morell is a freelance science writer based in Ashland, Oreg. [Ed. note: Goddard is still taking applications for forensic scientists. Interested readers with backgrounds in mammal, bird and reptile taxonomy and morphology should contact: Ken Goddard, National Fish and Wildlife Forensics Laboratory, 1490 East Main St., Ashland, Oreg. 97520.]

Wildlife Service Scientist/Sleuths

Become a Member of

Meet the Author

Virginia Morrell

Published In

April 1989

Related Research Resources

How Do Embryos Know How Fast to Develop

Research Resources

Podcasts

Webinars

Videos

Infographics

eBooks

The Advent of Automated and AI-Driven Benchwork

Become a PCR Pro

Genetic Insights Break Infectious Pathogen Barriers

Navigating Cold Storage Solutions

Products

Product News

BRAND® Dispensette® S Bottle Top Dispensers for Precise and Safe Reagent Dispensing

Sapio Sciences Makes AI-Native Drug Discovery Seamless with NVIDIA BioNeMo

New DeNovix Helium Nano Volume Spectrophotometer

Olink® Reveal: Accessible NGS-based proteomics for every lab