Jaws

by Peter Benchley

Peter and I were horrified at the impulse to kill sharks. We set out to inform ourselves and our audience about the realities of shark life, working to change perceptions about sharks and becoming public advocates for these animals and ocean conservation as a whole.

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I had no interest in writing a one-note horror story: Shark eats people. I concentrated on the question of what would actually happen if a huge predator laid siege to a resort community.

One of the first lessons I learned was that sharks not only don’t seek out and attack human beings, they avoid humans whenever possible—we are, after all, large, noisy, ugly aliens that, for all a shark knows, may pose mortal danger—and bite them very rarely. They don’t even like the taste of us, and great whites often spit humans out because they’re too bony and fat-free (compared to seals, that is).

I could never write Jaws today. I could never demonize an animal, especially not an animal that is much older and much more successful in its habitat than man is, has been, or ever will be, an animal that is vitally necessary for the balance of nature in the sea, and an animal that we may—if we don’t change our destructive behaviors—extinguish from the face of the earth.

I knew for certain that no one would ever make a movie from the book because it was impossible to catch and train a great white shark, and moviemaking technology was nowhere near good enough to create a believable model or mechanical version.

I do know that after all I’ve received from sharks, I’d feel like an ingrate if I didn’t give something back.

It was a funny thing, he thought, that when you live all your life in a place, you almost never do the things that tourists go there to do—like walk on the beach or go swimming in the ocean. He couldn’t remember the last time he went swimming. He wasn’t even sure he still owned a bathing suit. It was like something he had heard about New York—that half the people who live in the city never go to the top of the Empire State Building or visit the Statue of Liberty.

Thursday’s special was hamburger, and Brody had seen enough chopped meat for one day.

I find my solace in nature’s own nourishment.” “That’ll be some solace to Dorothy when your heart says, ‘That’s enough, buster, adiós.’ ”

Brody was astonished, mostly because he couldn’t imagine how anyone who had seen that mess could be sitting there now, licking lemon-pie filling off his fingers.

“We do have one thing going for us. Miss Watkins was a nobody. She was a drifter. No family, no close friends. She said she had hitchhiked East from Idaho. So she won’t be missed.”

Good lord the mayor is a piece of shit

“Come on, Martin. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s. We came to a decision, took a gamble, and lost. That’s all there is to it.” “Terrific. Now I’ll just go tell the kid’s mother that we’re terribly sorry we had to use her son for chips.”

“Are there any life jackets?” he asked. “Just the cushions,” said Hendricks. “They’d hold you up all right, if you were an eight-year-old boy.” “Thanks.”

Meadows said, “I called him. I thought he might be able to figure out what’s going on.” “Shit, Harry, all you had to do was ask me,” said Brody. “I could have told you. You see, there’s this fish out there, and …” “You know what I mean.”

“You’re working pretty late. I tried to get you at home.” “Yeah. Well, when you’re the chief of police and your constituents are getting themselves killed every twenty minutes, that kind of keeps you busy.”

They said they planned to hook the shark with the gaff and go for a “Nantucket sleigh ride.” Brody told them that if they ever tried the stunt again, he’d arrest them for attempted suicide.

What I got hooked on in college was fish, or, to be really specific, sharks.” Ellen laughed. “What an awful thing to fall in love with. It’s like having a passion for rats.” “That’s what most people think,” said Hooper. “But they’re wrong. Sharks have everything a scientist dreams of. They’re beautiful—God, how beautiful they are! They’re like an impossibly perfect piece of machinery. They’re as graceful as any bird. They’re as mysterious as any animal on earth.

So David went and found himself a girl whose father is the majority stockholder in an oil company. She’s nice enough, but she’s got the IQ of an artichoke.

“All right,” said Ellen. “I guess a little local color won’t hurt. And Harry does know everything that goes on around here.” “I wasn’t thinking about local color,” Brody said sharply. “They’re our friends.”

“I put clean clothes out for you on the bed. You might shave, too. You have a hideous five o’clock shadow.” “Good God, who’s coming to dinner—Prince Philip and Jackie Onassis?”

“Do you mind if I give Ellen something?” “What do you mean?” Brody said. He thought to himself, Give her what? A kiss? A box of chocolates? A punch in the nose?

“Here,” said Brody, handing the forward glass—the one with his finger in it—to Ellen. “No tip for you, my man,” she said. “It’s a good thing you decided against a career as a waiter.” Brody looked at her, considered a series of rude remarks, and settled for, “Forgive me, Duchess.”

“Don’t be so negative, Martin. When the time comes—if the time comes, and I’m betting it won’t—we’ll work that out then.” “Now, goddammit! I’m sick of taking all the shit for your mistakes.” “Wait a minute, Martin.” “I’m serious. If you want the authority for opening the beaches, then you take the responsibility, too.”

“You mean we drove all the way out here to see this shark and he’s gone? That’s not what the TV said.” “I can’t help that,” said Brody. “I don’t know who told you you were going to see that shark. They don’t just come up on the beach and shake hands, you know.”

“Nope. Over.” “Okay. Hey, Leonard, you don’t have to say ‘over’ all the time. I can tell when you’re finished speaking.”

“Didn’t look like much to me, just a fin. The boys was kind of disappointed.” “Listen you jerk,” Brody said. “A boy almost got killed just now. Are you disappointed that didn’t happen?”

Hooper turned and said, “Thinking of orca reminds me of something. You know what Australians call great white sharks?” “No,” said Brody, not really interested. “What?” “White death.” “You had to tell me, didn’t you?” Brody said as he closed the door behind them.

“He said forget it,” said Brody. “So forget it. Besides, I don’t want the responsibility. We’re out here to kill that fish, not make a home movie about it.”

“First, I’m going to take some pictures of him. Then I’m going to try to kill him.” “With what, may I ask?” “This.” Hooper held up the stick. “Good thinking,” Quint said with a derisive cackle. “If that doesn’t work you can tickle him to death.”