And then auto magnate Walter P. Chrysler agreed to fund an expedition to East Africa. As word spread, so did excitement — and offers from people hoping to sign on to the trip. As a newspaper wrote: “Each mail brings fresh floods of letters to Dr. Mann from points farther and farther distant, offering the services of eager adventurers — grown men as well as youngsters.”
Such entreaties were politely rejected. Instead, a group of naturalists accompanied Mann, as did a cameraman from the Pathé newsreel company. The Freedmen’s Hospital in Washington provided medical supplies. Chrysler threw in a truck, specially modified at the company’s London factory.
Also on board the ship were wooden crates reinforced with iron. Others would be built in the field.
The party set up headquarters in Dodoma, halfway between Dar es Salaam and Lake Tanganyika, and made forays into the bush. The animal hunts were grueling work, employing hundreds of native Africans who, of course, knew the ways of the animals better than the visitors.
Before leaving Washington, Mann had explained that the most practical way to procure an animal as large as a rhino was to kill a mother and take her baby.
“That doesn’t sound humane to some people, I know, but there really is nothing cruel about it,” he said.
“You see, we’re going to take mighty good care of the orphans, and a baby rhino won’t miss his mother after a day or two.”
As it happened, it was unnecessary to kill any mothers. And though 22 rhinos were spotted, none were captured. As for giraffes, two got away before a third was corralled at the end of August, just as the expedition was wrapping up.
Word of the giraffe was wired back to Washington, where the Evening Star was holding a naming contest.
