Let’s turn the clock back to the morning of Saturday, February 18, 1950. That’s the day when two snarling leopards arrived at the Oklahoma City Zoo, which is also known as the Lincoln Park Zoo.

The four-year-old cats had been captured only weeks earlier in the jungles of India, transported to the United States by animal broker Louis Goebel, and sold to the zoo for $400 each (roughly $5,500 apiece today).

Although the pair had not yet been named, the male would later become known as Leapy, while the female would be christened Leaping Lil or simply Lil.

Zoo superintendent Julian Frazier personally supervised their arrival and initially had the animals placed in the tiger pit. Within moments, Leapy sprang 12 feet (3.7 m) into the air and sank his claws into a ledge, coming dangerously close to escaping. Realizing the enclosure was not secure enough, Frazier ordered both leopards transferred to a deeper pit with 18-foot (5.5 m) walls, where they were housed separately while adjusting to their new surroundings.

Leapy, however, had no intention of giving up. Just one week after his arrival at the zoo, at around 1 PM on Saturday, February 25, 1950, Leapy once again made another breathtaking dash for freedom. With six boys, ages 11 to 13, looking on, Leapy soared across the moat encircling his new enclosure, rebounded from wall to wall, and somehow launched himself over the railing above the pit. For nearly 15 minutes, he stood poised on the edge before vanishing into the underbrush of the zoo’s 20-acre fenced-in grounds.

The boys immediately told two zoo visitors what had happened, but their story was brushed aside as nonsense. Panicked, they ran to a gate about half a block down the hill, only to find it locked. They squeezed through an opening in the fence separating the zoo from the rest of Lincoln Park and rushed to a nearby house, but no one was home. So, they tore uphill to another house, where Gilbert Scott, a park maintenance worker, had just finished eating lunch. Scott didn’t waste any time. He grabbed a .22-caliber rifle, shouted for one of the assistants to call Julian Frazier, jumped into a pickup truck, and sped off.

Word quickly spread through the zoo and across the surrounding park that Leapy was loose. One might expect news of a vicious 175-pound (~79.4 kg) leopard on the prowl to trigger panic, but most people barely seemed rattled. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, and many visitors stayed put to watch the excitement unfold. Even after the zoo grounds were cleared and the gates locked, picnickers in the park kept eating, and golfers went on with their game.

Meanwhile, Julian Frazier and Lincoln Park Superintendent Pat Murphy led a search party consisting of zookeepers, city police officers, and highway patrolmen. Armed with shotguns and high-powered rifles, they methodically combed the zoo. At one point, their attention turned to a large hole eroded beside one of the lion pens. No one dared peer inside to see whether Leapy was hiding there, so a Highway Patrol officer fired a gas shot into the hole to flush him out. Unfortunately, Leapy wasn’t there.

After four hours of fruitless searching, Frazier concluded that Leapy had slipped beyond the zoo’s confines. He told reporters, “He isn’t over here, or the animals would be setting up a howl. These animals will know if he’s around long before any of us will.”

Since the cat was clearly no longer in the zoo, the hunt then shifted to a heavily wooded area to the northeast, where Frazier abandoned any hope of taking the leopard alive. “You’d better shoot first, too. One shot is all you have. These things move as fast as greased lightning.”

He then issued the following warning to nearby residents: “I would advise people in the northeast section of Oklahoma City to be extremely cautious. Especially, I would warn all those who have small children to keep them indoors.

“This animal is fresh from the jungles of India. He has been in captivity only a short while. Unlike other members of the cat family, such as the lion and tiger, which kill only for food, the leopard will kill for pleasure.”

Frazier urged anyone who spotted the leopard – or any farmer who had livestock killed – to call Lincoln Park headquarters immediately at 5-3434.

Meanwhile, police reported that the department’s switchboard was swamped with calls. Some were from people claiming to have spotted the leopard, others seeking information, and still others eager to offer advice.

One woman called the police in a panic, fearing her two daughters might be attacked while walking home from the theater. She asked for a squad car to pick them up, but officers said that wasn’t possible and advised her to call a taxicab instead.

Around 4:30 p.m., police rushed to the fairgrounds, about 3 miles (4.8 km) from the zoo, after a woman reported seeing the leopard near the horse barn. Tracks resembling a leopard’s were found, but the animal itself was nowhere to be found.

As night fell, Frazier called off the hunt for the evening, explaining that “the dark is only adding to that cat’s advantage and it certainly won’t be any help to us.”

Yet, there was still one more sighting Saturday evening. Two boys had been playing in a creek about five miles (~8.1 km) east of the zoo and saw the leopard. They asked a nearby resident to call police, and within moments nearly a dozen officers converged on the creek. Once again, however, Leapy was nowhere to be found.

By early Sunday morning, park superintendent Frazier had assembled a group of about fifty men. He preferred to keep the search team relatively small, noting that, “This cat is smart – as smart as any animal on earth – and I’m afraid that with a large group of people, someone would be injured. That we want to avoid at almost any cost.”

Frazier added that, “The cat was fed eight or nine pounds of horse meat Saturday morning. Our best bet is for him to get hungry and come out from wherever it is he’s hiding. The first time he’s sighted we’ll have a number of good ‘cat’ dogs that will be able to pick up a fresh trail and go on from there.”

He did point out that there wasn’t much likelihood of the leopard attacking humans, unless it felt cornered. “This animal probably will kill a calf or some chickens for food, but I don’t believe he will attack anybody. Just the same, I’d advise people in this area to quit walking on the roads at night.”

Of course, that was easy for Frazier to say, since he was the one walking around at all times with a loaded double-barreled shotgun. “I keep it cocked because I know I won’t get but one shot if I find him.”

Perhaps the greatest obstacle to finding Leapy were the thousands of people who either came as spectators or to offer assistance. Traffic jams clogged the area, and nearly every bridge was packed with curious onlookers. Hundreds of people poured into the creek beds carrying whatever weapons they could find, which included rifles, elephant guns, old Army rifles, and pistols. Two men even arrived armed with nothing but an ice pick. Many brought dogs as well, though most were house pets that had never been trained to find anything but a rubber ball or stick. The search took on the air of a carnival, prompting one searcher to remark, “If they locate the leopard, it’ll probably be found trampled to death.”

The chaos forced Police Chief L. J. Hilbert to order all dogs removed from the area except the four they brought in for the hunt. He also pleaded with the crowd to put away their guns. “We appreciate the interest and certainly can use the people to look for this animal, but we will have someone shot, most likely killed, if all these people keep getting in and out of their cars carrying loaded guns.”

Leapy would not be spotted again until about 2:30 Sunday afternoon, when a couple saw him darting for cover. They pulled their car over, and the husband gave chase armed with nothing more than two sticks. Another motorist saw the commotion and joined the pursuit with a high-powered rifle. After locating the leopard in a patch of trees and tall grass, he signaled to a search plane overhead. Within minutes, searchers arrived and combed the area. Believing they had trapped Leapy in a triangular patch of reeds and grass, they set the area ablaze with the owner’s permission. But the leopard never emerged—he had somehow slipped away once again.

As often happens when a story captures public attention, reporters turned to outside experts for perspective.

One was Damoo Dhotre, an animal trainer with the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus who worked with leopards, lions, tigers, jaguars, and other big cats. He offered this advice:

“First you have to spot him.

“Then you get a goat – a live goat. Then you get a movable cage and tie the goat inside.

“The goat will make a lot of noise, and the leopard will come for it. You have to have a man up in a tree with a rope on the cage door to drop it when the leopard gets inside.

“I had two of my leopards escape. But I had no trouble catching them. I lassoed them like a cowboy and held them until they brought the shipping case.

“Sometimes we use a net, too.

“But they were my trained animals. I don’t think you’d be very wise to try that with that wild leopard up there.”

When questioned as to what type of gun was best for killing a leopard, he replied, “I couldn’t tell you what kind of gun. I never shot an animal in my life.”

Explorer Osa Johnson, who, along with her husband Martin, had traveled the world and basically invented the safari documentary, said, “If they need me, I’ll fly to Oklahoma with my 0.3 Mauser and I’ll help them. I’ll help them blow his brains out. It must be done quickly.”

She added, “They must use big rifles. The leopard is like a streak of lightning – a piece of elastic – a rubber band. I once saw nine men shooting at a leopard in Africa, and they barely got him.”

Johnson concluded, “The people hunting this one must be very careful, but they must hurry. It sounds as if many persons are in great danger.”

The leopard had been tracked as far north as Edmond, Oklahoma, which lies approximately 10 miles (~16 km) from the zoo. Additional tracks were found about 12.5 miles (~20 km) to the northeast, near Arcadia.

As a result, the decision was made after dark on Sunday to move the search farther out of the city.

When Monday rolled around, 58-year-old psychic Lula Moore, drove 15 miles (~24.1 km) to let reporters at the Daily Oklahoman newspaper know that she had a vision that the cat was lying in “heavy brush about a quarter of a mile away.” She told reporters, “The leopard was going due east from Oklahoma City, then he went under a cement culvert. There he drank water. After that, he crept up and went east into the oak brush. There he lay down.”

When questioned as to how far Leapy was from the city, she replied, “I didn’t get the mileage. But it’s due east. And he’s not too far from a big white dwelling house on the left side of a road. He’s in a draw about a quarter of a mile from the house.” She added, “The cat doesn’t want to hurt anybody. He’s afraid.”

Later that same day, two hunters reported seeing the leopard crawl under a fence back into the park, leaving a few hairs snagged on its lower edge. The sighting raised an intriguing possibility: after two days of roaming the outskirts of Oklahoma City, could Leapy be headed home? No one could say for certain, but it sure seemed possible.

That night, meat baits, each laced with a tranquilizer pill, were placed along the Deep Fork River. The hope was that the cat would eat one of them and knock himself out. In addition, since he may have attempted to return to the zoo, the gates to his pit were left open for the evening. One tainted bait was set in the service tunnel leading to his cage, and another was placed inside atop a shipping crate. Leaping Lil, the female leopard, was secured in a cage, so there was no danger of her escaping.

Around 2 AM Tuesday morning, February 28, 1950, the meat baits placed near the leopard enclosure were found missing. State Game Ranger Euel Moore cautiously took a peek and spotted the leopard’s head. Julian Frazier was called in and discovered the cat walking around in a drunk-like manner. He then took a rope and lassoed the leopard. Once Leapy was secured, zoo workers slipped a shipping crate around him.

The elusive cat was taken to the zoo hospital, where a veterinarian administered a stimulant to counteract the sleeping potion. Instead, it only worsened his condition. After thrashing around for a short bit, Leapy slipped into a coma. The veterinarian gave him a second injection at noon and a third at 4 p.m. When he left the zoo hospital at 4:30, Leapy appeared to be recovering. But at 5:45 p.m., zoo employee Roy Roberts found that the leopard had stopped breathing. The veterinarian returned, but he could not revive him.

Julian Frazier was shocked by the news of the leopard’s passing. “He did fine all day long. His breathing was even and strong until the time he died, as far as we know.”

It was a heartbreaking and tragic end to a story that had gripped the public from the start. Yet Leapy’s story was not quite over.

Louis Goebel, the animal broker who sold the leopard to the zoo, had previously wired his regret over the escape. Believing the cat was unlikely to be recaptured alive, he also agreed to send the zoo a younger male at no cost, if needed.

And then there were those who tried to capitalize on the leopard’s fame.

Rothschild’s, a major Oklahoma City department store until it was demolished during mid-1970s urban renewal, ran newspaper ads for the next month featuring leopard merchandise. One could purchase a “Leapin’ Leopards” T-shirt, various “Leapin’ Leopards” jackets, and even “Leapin’ Leopards” boxer shorts. The text for that latter product read, “No longer must men’s shorts be drab and uninteresting! Leapin’ leopards crawl around the shorts – as in the jungle… Tailored in the exacting JAX-SON boxer style underwear of fine quality soft rayon… Not only gay, but practical.”

Then there was the children’s book “Luther, The Elusive Leopard” by Catherine Clark. The ad copy read “This is a gay accounting of the adventures of our own elusive leopard, the Prince of the Jungles, with colorful sketches to delight youngsters.” The book sold for just $1, or about $13.75 in today’s money.

Even the Oklahoma City Zoo realized that it may have a cash cow in its hands. Just one day after the cat’s death, a local taxidermist had begun work on stuffing and mounting the leopard. Frazier said, “It will be a good attraction for the zoo and the logical place to keep the leopard.”

Seven weeks after Leapy’s passing, his so-called widow, Leaping Lil, made headlines of her own. As a zoo attendant placed a pan of water near her enclosure, she reached through and grabbed his hand, leaving a gash on his right thumb.

Fast forward to one year after Leapy’s escape, and the zoo reported that they had seen a big increase in attendance. Frazier told a reporter, “We’ve had a lot more out-of-state cars, and I’ve talked with hundreds of people who have driven here from other states just to see our zoo.”

On April 22, 1951, the zoo unveiled its new leopard shrine, located inside a renovated former concession building. The centerpiece of the exhibit was Leapy’s taxidermied body, displayed inside a large glass case. In the years that followed, and as Leapy’s fame faded, the building gradually became home to the zoo’s reptile collection.

The zoo also had a new 3-year-old male leopard named Bob. He was a gift from a local man who had run unsuccessfully for sheriff and used the animal for campaign publicity. Bob and Leaping Lil were kept in cages while the leopard den was remodeled. The work included deepening the pit by 5 feet (1.52 m), adding more overhang to the rock walls, applying slick concrete to prevent leopards from gaining a foothold, and installing a steel grid around the den. Superintendent Frazier believed that the alterations would make the pit escape-proof, but as they say, never say never. Determined animals will always find the one overlooked flaw in any design.

Shortly before noon on Monday, December 7, 1953, more than three years after Leapy’s escape, zoo attendant Bob Snyder had just finished cleaning the puma cage adjacent to the enclosure housing the two panthers. The animal cages were connected by tunnels that were secured with large, heavy doors. As Snyder made his way from the puma cage through the tunnel, he assumed the leopards had been locked up; a mistake that nearly cost him his life. Without warning, Leaping Lil sprang forward and slammed into Snyder, knocking him violently to one side. “She went for my throat that time. I threw up my arm, and she bit and scratched me, but kept going.” Lil left seven deep fang marks on his right forearm, but he was lucky to be alive.

Leaping Lil, however, had made her way to the puma pit, which was only about 12 feet (~3.7 m) deep, and jumped out. Word quickly got to Superintendent Frazier, who was in his office at the time. He grabbed a 12-gauge shotgun and, along with zoo foreman Marvin Crain, the two searched the dense shrubbery behind the animal pits.

Then, without warning, Leaping Lil burst from the brush and knocked Crain to the ground. Armed with nothing more than a three-foot (1 m) section of tree limb, Crain managed to drive her back with a single blow. Although he escaped unharmed, Frazier realized there was only one course of action left. As Lil raced toward the lion cage, he fired a single shot into her left flank. She immediately collapsed into the lion enclosure, where she died moments later.

Six months later, on June 8, 1954, another wild-animal hunt unfolded northeast of the city. Reports of a black panther roaming the brush prompted a thorough search, but nothing was found. If a panther had been out there, it had not escaped from the zoo. Frazier personally checked and confirmed that all the zoo’s panthers were accounted for.

Yet, there would be additional escapes from the zoo.

At 9:30 PM on Wednesday, September 21, 1966, a 7-year-old, 100 lb. (~45 kg), male snow leopard named Ivan the Terrible made an 18-foot (~5.5 m) leap for freedom. Hoping to avoid sparking panic, zoo director Dr. Phil Ogilvie waited seventeen hours before informing the public of the escape. Remarkably, visitors continued to wander the zoo the following day, completely unaware that the dangerous cat was loose. It was not until 4 p.m. on Thursday that zoo officials finally stopped admitting new patrons. Julian Frazier, who was now the director of the Denver Zoo, said he was “at a loss to explain why the Oklahoma City Zoo was allowed to remain open.”

What unfolded next was eerily reminiscent of what had happened to Leapy sixteen years earlier. That evening, bait tainted with a tranquilizer was laid out, and 27 hours after his escape, Ivan the Terrible was located near the southwestern corner of Lincoln Park. Sadly, the cat did not reawaken and died two hours after his capture.

Finally, on April 30, 2015, a zoo patron in the Cat Forest area noticed something unusual: Lola, a 4-year-old female Sumatran tiger, was in an enclosed space between two exhibits. Unlike the others, her story ended happily. She never fully escaped, was tranquilized twenty minutes later, and recovered completely.

While we all prefer stories to have happy endings, Leapy’s did not. And, as time has passed, his story has become mostly a faint memory. And while his escape only lasted a few days, his legend lasted for decades.

Useless? Useful? I’ll leave that for you to decide.