Faced with the Kong-sized task of creating a new home for primates at the Philadelphia Zoo, curator Andy Baker has no time to monkey around.

On a sunny afternoon in mid-March, Andy Baker is standing inside Rare Animal House at the Philadelphia Zoo, showing a visitor a troupe of spectacled langurs. It is prematurely warm: The air is heavy with the musky scent of animal and the leaves on the floor of the exhibit wilt before our eyes. Baker looks at home. As the curator for primates and small mammals since 1994, there isn't a detail here that he's not conversant with—and he moves easily from describing animal diet to chatting with a keeper or just standing back to enjoy the langurs, a monkey native to southeastern Asia. The extended family includes two babies, one still a newborn shade of soft orange, who alternately climb on the adult langurs, swing by their legs, and nurse.

Baker remarks on the patience of the adults amid the babies' clamor, and for just a few minutes, he gets to stand still. Over the course of the last three-plus years, standing still has been rare.

In September of 1996, nine months after what was probably the worst disaster in American zoo history—an electrical fire which killed 23 primates and destroyed the World of Primates facility—the Board of Directors at the Philadelphia Zoo voted to build a new primate center.

It was about this time that Baker, a tall, youthful 41, found himself the leader, in many ways, of the project to design the new facility. Though he concedes after some prodding to wearing "four or five different hats," he has been at the center of it, "in terms of vision and animal management," according to zoo president and C.E.O. Pete Hoskins, ever since.

For the last three years, Baker has worked with architects at CLRdesign inc., in addition to his regular work of supervising 19 or so keepers and keeping tabs on the entire collection of primates and small mammals. And each year he travels to Brazil to do field research on the golden lion tamarin, a small, critically endangered primate native to South America. Zoo spokesperson Antoinette Maciolek only half-jokingly calls him "the busiest man in Philadelphia."

The tragedy that occurred in the $6 million World of Primates exhibit was caused primarily by a weather-damaged alarm system. Lost in the blaze were six lowland gorillas, including the popular John and Samantha; three Bornean orangutans; four white-handed gibbons; and 10 lemurs from three subspecies. Ten small primates in the connected Discovery House survived minor smoke inhalation.

Amid the public relations disaster that followed (no sprinkler system, faulty wiring, two guards fired), zoo staff members and others put together a month-long memorial exhibit to the animals, an effort that channeled some of their grief and frustrated energy.

Baker is the person who climbed into the building after it cooled down, to confirm the worst. He recalls the time after the fire as an eye-opener. "Whether by accident or design, people showed what [good] they were capable of, and from the worst of situations… the best possible result was obtained."

He is speaking of more than his loyal staff and the generosity of the public: Primate Reserve, a state-of-the-art facility in terms of both animal management and visitor education, and the result of nearly three years of intense planning and work, is set to open on July 1.

On this March afternoon, a countdown of sorts has begun. With five weeks to go before the new animals arrive and begin a 30-day quarantine, and a little more than three months until opening day, he will oversee the last bits of construction, consult with other animal experts on the final group of animals to arrive, coordinate the arrival of the animals, ready the building for them, and, as always, with the help of his staff, monitor their general health and well-being once they are here. He doesn't seem daunted, though, just maybe a bit pressed. "I hope the excitement doesn't stop," he confided earlier, alluding to the potential for post-opening blues. As people begin to gather around him for answers, it becomes clear that it won't stop for a while—and time is up. Baker must leave Rare Animal House for another Primate Reserve meeting.

Rebuilding was a foregone conclusion. Within a week of the fire, management was already talking about putting together a group of animals similar to the one lost, as well as the likelihood of a homecoming for Chaka, who had been living at Cincinnati Zoo. He is the son of Samantha and John, two of the beloved gorillas killed in the blaze.

The question wasn't really whether or not to build a new primate facility. Board Chair Barry Lyngard says the vote was actually a decision about "how far the zoo would go" with the new site. The Philadelphia Zoo, America's oldest, wants to attract visitors, and gorillas particularly bring in visitors, says Baker.

Chalk it up to human identification with the animals due to the resemblance, or blame it on the scare factor based on erroneous movie images, but everybody—the public and and its zoos—wants them.

The Philly zoo has been defined in large part by its work with primates: It is known for its gorilla and orangutan longevity records and for developing "zoocake," the first scientifically formulated diet for primates. Sixty-some years ago it pioneered tuberculosis screening and treatment among primates, once crucial because TB was the animals' biggest killer. The zoo is one of two in the United States that houses bi-colored tamarins, a Brazilian primate. In the interest of attracting visitors and upholding tradition, there really could have been no question: The smaller primates in Rare Animal House, by themselves, wouldn't do.

In addition, scientists know more about primate needs and behavior than they did when the one-story World of Primates was built in 1985. Zoo exhibit design has advanced. Money was pouring in from citizens, art auctions, private endowments and the Zoo Renewal Fund, among others. Should the zoo, with its touted mission of conservation, education and recreation, pull out all the stops? They voted to rebuild—by creating one of the world's leading primate centers.

Primate Reserve, an endeavor that will ultimately cost $24 million, including $7.9 million from the City of Philadelphia, is scheduled to open July 1, the 125th anniversary of the Philadelphia Zoo. Mayor Ed Rendell calls the reserve "a new beginning… They had a lot of trouble, even before the fire, with management problems." He says the zoo is "central to the city's hospitality universe," and adds, "A big city that wants to attract families has to have a first-rate, compelling zoo. And with the addition of Primate Reserve, we do."

Lyngard says that reaching the decision to spend so much money wasn't difficult.

"When you decide to do the best in the world, and it just might be the best in the world, the decision is actually easy to make, because it's exciting." Lyngard is also quick to point out that "when you have the talent to match the size and scope of the project—Andy Baker and his staff—you have to support that talent," with a full collection of animals and a multifaceted facility.

At 2.5 acres and over 47,000 square feet of exhibit area, the reserve will be twice as large as the old exhibit, and it will feature 11 primate species: three gorillas, two orangutans, four colobus monkeys, six spectacled langurs, six squirrel monkeys, three types of lemurs, a pair of pygme marmosets, a pair of golden lion tamarins, and either a pair or small family of white-handed gibbons.

There will be outdoor and indoor areas, reinforcing a conservation message: The Reserve will look like an abandoned logging camp that scientists have reclaimed as a refuge for endangered primates. "Animals reclaiming nature" is how Maciolek describes it. This old logging camp theme, with its built-in reference to the importance of preserving natural habitat, ties in handily with the educational aspect of the zoo's mission. Tim French, curator for mammals at the Toledo Zoo, calls education "the most important component of any zoo." He is speaking about zoos that are accredited by the American Zoo and Aquarium Association when he says, "[Zoos] are not just places for people to come look at animals anymore. From donating money to conservation in the field, we're involved in conservation. And if people don't get that… if they're still destroying land and killing wildlife, then you need to do more."

On an overcast February afternoon, as Baker makes his way from the construction site to his first-floor office in Penrose Research Laboratory, he is stopped at least half a dozen times by construction workers and zookeepers; as he steps into his office to talk about his latest monkey acquisitions, his walkie-talkie goes off. It is the first of many calls from respective project managers. These are hectic days.

Seated in his office, Baker tells a story. In the summer of 1995, he visited a zoo in the Netherlands with a unique approach that tested the parameters of the "standard zoo exhibit," as he describes it. Small monkeys were kept in the "primate equivalent of a walk-through aviary," and people sort of hung out for a while—there were places to sit. "I watched people's reactions.… It was a very different experience," he says now.

He was interested in this direct approach as a way to both get people comfortable and remove the sense of physical distance that might contribute to a visitor's lack of connection or sense of responsibility to the animals. The seed was sown for the design philosophy that would follow the fire: In some areas, there will be 25-foot windows to see the animals (they have screens and places to go for privacy); a no-barrier, walk-through outdoor exhibit with ring-tailed lemurs climbing in trees directly overhead; a mezzanine providing all-around views; and elevated towers from which keepers can interact with their charges and answer questions, among other features.

Baker is working with CLRdesign inc., a local firm renowned for its zoo exhibits.

The firm, for whom 75 to 80 percent of business is zoos and aquariums, was called in at the start. Principal John Rodgers, on the phone from the firm's Old City office, calls this project "a collaborative effort" and points to the zoo's (and Baker's) willingness "to try unique things." He says, "This is going to be an extraordinary exhibit, from the visitor experience and animal welfare standpoints. We've really attempted to turn the building inside out. There is a fine line between the animals' space and the visitor space. The question [is going to be] who's watching who?"

In keeping with the educational goals of the zoo's mission, Rodgers says, "There has been considerable focus on letting visitors in on behind-the-scenes activities—that whole interaction between keepers and animals is going to be in plain view, even to the extent that keepers will wear wireless mikes."

There will be an elaborate fire safety system with, as Baker says, "state-of-the-art fire detection and smoke evacuation." Rodgers concurs. He says, "There will be a smoke evacuation system, with areas in the building broken into zones. Any zone can be completely evacuated of smoke within six minutes." This feature is particularly important in a zoo, where you cannot herd animals outside to stand in a single-file line while the building is tended to.

There will be a lot of "vertical options," as Baker says. This is important for particularly arboreal (tree-dwelling) primates, namely orangutans, Baker's favorite primate species. So enclosures are tall. A decision was made "to address animal needs rather than what the exhibit looks like," he explains. So being naturalistic wasn't the first order of business, though that's been achieved to a certain degree. Natural considerations were given to the arrangement of animals in their respective habitats. Gibbons, for example, will overlap in range with the orangutans, as they would in the wild, explains Baker.

French says that zoos worth their salt create mixed-species exhibits these days. "These species don't exist in a vacuum in their natural environments. You get better use of your space and it's better for the animals," he says.

Considerable attention was paid to creating a flexible environment to keep the animals stimulated. Inside, there are cargo nets, crates, bundles of bamboo and walled eyebolts for the movement of things like rolling ladders. The size of the reserve and design choice of an abandoned logging camp mean that "you can have all those things," greatly opening up the play options for the animals, Baker points out.

There are three sycamores outside on the reserve grounds. The orangutans and gibbons lost in the fire played in these trees, and their roots are perhaps longer than the trees themselves. Everywhere the construction workers have dug, they've had to be careful of those roots.

Just as the workers are protecting the sycamores' roots, Andy Baker is protecting the primates' genetic roots.

Baker has worked with various animal experts across the country, in the form of Species Survival Plans (SSPs), to locate animals suited to that well-regarded network's "long-term genetics and demographic" considerations.

SSPs, which are administered by the American Zoo and Aquarium Association, serve as matchmakers for animals and curators and are managed by expert zoologists, who, having been appointed, basically volunteer their time. They comb studbooks for genetically suited animals (to prevent lack of diversity within a species or subspecies), make breeding recommendations (animals must be of the right age, both for breeding, if needed, and adaptation to things like new environments), and decide who is most needed where. The national gorilla SSP, for example, makes matches based on what gorillas need as a species and what the zoos want as recreation centers, but animal conservation has been mandated its primary goal.

Baker says "SSPs have really begun making obsolete the idea of ownership" for zoos, putting species' needs ahead of business concerns. Long-term needs like genetic diversity trump marketing tools that might indicate "the more gorillas the better." It is an arrangement to which 183 zoos and aquariums throughout North America have committed.

Aspects of the SSP program don't always run smoothly. Coordinators, often harried because they also have full-time paid jobs and lots of responsibilities, can take a long time to respond—time that Baker, who incidentally happens to be the studbook keeper for bi-colored tamarins, doesn't have. In the months leading up to opening, he has, in a few instances, done some of the research himself. And then there are the squirrel monkeys, with no SSP. Zoologists have been so busy figuring out whether a given squirrel monkey is a squirrel monkey or a subspecies, that a way to work out their genealogy hasn't yet emerged. Baker laughs, "They are a problematic species."

In addition to heeding conservation considerations for the new animal group, Baker had another job: to find animals representative of the species lost in the blaze.

The loss of the orangutans, specifically Rita, a 30-year-old Bornean orangutan, and her three-year-old daughter, was particularly great from a conservationist standpoint. Rita was born in the wild, and Jingga Gula was her first purebred offspring. As Baker said soon after, "We basically lost an entire bloodline for the captive population." The other animals that were lost at least left living relatives. Two Sumatran orangutans (there are simply more of this subspecies than the Bornean in the United States) were selected to live in Primate Reserve.

Lori Perkins, of Zoo Atlanta, is the SSP coordinator for orangutans in this country. When Baker called in his request, Perkins found herself in the position of giving up a beloved Zoo Atlanta animal: Tua, who will be the new female orangutan under Baker. Perkins jokes that in Atlanta "the staff hates me. She's our star cover girl."

Perkins calls Baker "fabulously competent" at managing the animals under his care, and points to his curatorial internship at the National Zoo (a rather elite internship, with just a "handful" of people ever having passed through) and his doctorate in zoology. "I think the fact that he's a scientist as well helps," she says.

Dr. Benjamin Beck, the associate director for Biological Programs at The National Zoo, supervised Baker's curatorial internship there in the early '90s. The program, really a select residency for nonacademic zoo work—like the more practical side of animal management and budgetary concerns—has since been phased out for financial reasons. Beck says of Baker, "He has the ability to make people feel comfortable, to listen to them, to convey respect—he's a great consensus-seeker. And then there's his technical knowledge of primate housing and husbandry. I know that when Karl [Kranz, senior vice president of Animal Affairs at the Philadelphia Zoo] and Pete [Hoskins] decided to make Andy the point person for the project, they made a shrewd decision." Hoskins, for his part, calls Baker "a world-class person" and says, he is "proud" to have him leading so many aspects of the project.

Beck says that Baker is loyal, a trait that was perhaps reinforced by his remaining in Philadelphia when he could arguably have had his pick of positions at zoos across the country. Beck says, "He told me more than once that [the fire and its aftermath] would be an opportunity to learn a lot."

What has Baker learned? His answer, as always, turns the focus away from himself. "I always knew that people enjoyed and cared about the zoo, but in the aftermath of the fire, I was totally overwhelmed by the depth of feeling that came out for the zoo and the animals."

The beginning of April found keepers gaining access to the reserve to set up the kitchen and background spaces, "to get comfortable," says Baker.

There are primates already at the zoo: The fire destroyed one facility—World of Primates—and its inhabitants. The Discovery House animals remained and 81 representatives of different primate species, housed elsewhere, were not injured. Those animals, lemurs and tamarins among them, are being moved to Primate Reserve this month.

The new acquisitions—gorillas, orangutans, gibbons and squirrel monkeys—began arriving April 22 and started a 30-day quarantine process. Baker explains that although animals are already examined for things like intestinal parasites and enlarged hearts before being selected to move to a zoo, moves can be stressful and can bring out ailments that would otherwise remain dormant—hence the quarantine.

About the same time, the ruffed lemurs, already in-house, were moved into the reserve because a baby is expected this spring, giving them a little time to get cozy before the big event.

The rest of the in-house animals will move in May, first being introduced to the holding areas downstairs in the Reserve. Lemur Lookout will become a home to spider monkeys.

Baker admits that "there are still lots of last-minute adjustments," and says that Primate Reserve will remain "most definitely a work in progress," like any proper facility for captive animals.

And he knows there'll be some bittersweet emotions connected with the Reserve's opening.

The early weeks could be a particularly hard time for the keeper staff, who were so emotionally connected to the animals that died in the fire.

"This has been so consuming," he says, speaking from home last weekend after working on preparations 24 out of the last 26 days. "We're so focused on getting things ready that for me there's been little time for reflection."

But right now he's happy that his vision for the primates' new home seems to have been realized.

"One of the things I think about as I'm walking through is how much fun they're going to have."

Baker's chief objectives were to reduce the sense of separation between visitors and animals, and, in line with the zoo's overall philosophy, "a no-empty-exhibits goal." He seems confident that those will be achieved.

He adds later, "The outpouring of support we received resulted in a primate building, an education program and a conservation program that I feel will really do justice, in as much as is possible, to the memories of the animals we lost."