This funeral traded hymns for a brass band, somber pallbearers for dancing drag queens, and black suits and dresses for reptile costumes. There were no platters of cheese and crackers, but there was a nearly life-size loaf of sourdough shaped like the deceased.
In San Francisco, people do things differently — including the memorial service on Sunday to mourn the passing of Claude, an albino alligator who entertained crowds at the California Academy of Sciences for years by not doing much at all.
San Francisco has long embraced those who stand out from the crowd, and Claude certainly did. He was pure white, had pink eyes that did not see well, stretched 10 feet long, weighed 300 pounds and was so quiet and still that many first-time visitors to the science museum thought he was a statue.
A few times over the years, Claude shocked his admirers with a roar — and on Sunday, the city roared its love and appreciation back at him. He died last month of liver cancer at 30, a ripe age for an albino alligator, and thousands turned out to a concourse near the museum in Golden Gate Park for his jubilant memorial service.
“This city of misfits and originals recognized him as one of our own,” Assemblywoman Catherine Stefani, wearing a white suit like Claude, told the crowd. “His difference wasn’t hidden or corrected. It was honored.”
Dellah Chaboya, 6, held a sign reading, “Albinism is Awesome.” She has albinism like Claude did, and her father, Nick, said that visiting the alligator taught her about the rare genetic condition.
Alia Dong-Stewart, a 47-year-old emergency medical technician with the San Francisco Fire Department, wore a homemade white alligator outfit that included a headpiece filled with giant teeth, a massive swinging tail and a turtle-shaped purse. How did she craft such a thing?
“A wish and a prayer,” she said. “I had no pattern.”
It is hard to explain why one alligator who spent his life sitting on a museum rock became so beloved in San Francisco and even famous worldwide. But this one did.
He was the subject of children’s books, and numerous young visitors ended up owning Claude stuffed animals. A webcam sponsored by Anthropic, the maker of an artificial intelligence assistant also named Claude, broadcast his movements, or lack of them, around the globe. Bundles of cards made for Claude by schoolchildren arrived at the museum constantly, with the students often commenting on how they felt better about their own differences after seeing him thrive with his.
When Claude died on Dec. 2, the museum was inundated with condolence cards and flowers. Representative Nancy Pelosi called him “a cold-blooded icon” in a social media post. Numerous fans posted that they were crying as they read the news. The city will rename the road running along the front of the museum Claude the Alligator Way. (The road running along the museum’s backside is named for Ms. Pelosi.)
Claude almost certainly lived far longer than he would have in the wild. Albino alligators, in lacking pigmentation, have difficulty blending into their surroundings, and they tend to have poor eyesight, making them easy pickings for predators. But at the museum, those special qualities, plus his toothy grin, endeared him to visitors.
Claude was to San Francisco what other famous animals have been to their cities. In Los Angeles, there was P-22, the wild mountain lion who lived in a park. New Yorkers loved Flaco, an owl that escaped the Central Park Zoo and lived as a free bird for more than a year before hitting a building and dying, his body weakened by a pigeon virus and rat poison. In Cincinnati, a baby hippo named Fiona, who was born prematurely, became a social media sensation.
“These animal ambassadors become beloved neighbors,” Scott Sampson, executive director of the California museum, said. “They serve a really important role to connect people with nature, and I would argue that we need people to be connected with nature more now than ever before.”
Claude was born on an alligator farm in Louisiana in 1995, weighing just two ounces, and was sold to an alligator park and zoo in Florida. In 2008, the California Academy of Sciences bought Claude and another alligator, a traditional green one named Bonnie, for its swamp.
For the journey, the pair were placed in wooden crates in the back of a truck, along with a very large rattlesnake. They were driven across the country by two men who traded off driving and did not stop until they reached San Francisco because it is hard to find a motel that takes alligators and rattlesnakes.
Bart Shepherd, senior director of the academy’s Steinhart Aquarium, said that his predecessor, Chris Andrews, who purchased the gators, had wanted to create an exhibit featuring one regular alligator and one albino one to educate people about evolution and genetic mutations.
“He knew what Claude would do,” Mr. Shepherd said, adding that Mr. Andrews had “a bit of P.T. Barnum” in him. “He knew he could become a mascot for us and San Francisco.”
Claude did just that, but life for Bonnie did not go so swimmingly. The pair did not get along, and Claude, nearly blind, kept bumping into her. Bonnie, in a fit of pique, chomped Claude’s toe. The museum kept the toe in its collection, but did not keep Bonnie. It was back to Florida for her.
Claude gained new swamp mates — three turtles named after the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles — who sometimes snapped at his tail but never bit off an extremity. They are still in the swamp, and museum officials are debating how else to fill it. Another albino alligator is a possibility, Mr. Sampson said.
Most of Claude’s body was cremated, but a portion of his white hide, prepared like leather, will remain in the museum’s collection along with his skull, Mr. Shepherd said. That will make Claude one of 46 million specimens preserved at the academy for research and education.
Perhaps the most moving speaker at Claude’s service was Sasha Miller, a 17-year-old poet from St. Ignatius High School. She wrote a poem for the unusual day.
“In a city that shelters the uncommon, that gathers what the world lets go,” she told the crowd, “Claude became its living emblem, proof that care can let things grow.”
Inside the museum, in the swamp that used to hold Claude, a large bouquet of white flowers rested on his rock.
Heather Knight is a reporter in San Francisco, leading The Times’s coverage of the Bay Area and Northern California.
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