CIRCUS BOY
The smell of the circus is a strange concoction of manure, spun sugar floss, mixed with popcorn, and for some reason I felt at home, so comfortable a feeling it gave me an overwhelming sense that my first day on the job as a circus clown was going to be something special, maybe not in the way I had planned but special just the same.
I stood in front of that huge, royal blue and circus-orange, banded big top scared and alone. Not knowing anyone yet, I waited for the opening whistle from the ringmaster indicating the start of the show, wearing my finest blue and gold checked baggy pants, a long sleeve, sun-bright, yellow shirt and a three-foot orange tie that was held on by an elastic strap that went around my neck and under my shirt collar, and every time I pulled on it my tongue tumbled out of my mouth, as if the two were connected.
Standing outside the stage entrance nervously tapping my leather yellow, blue, and red clown shoes, I decided to approach a bull hand from the elephant crew who was lighting a Phillip Morse Commander. His skin was leathered and wrinkled with nooks and crannies like the backside of the beast he was trained to horde. Of the 17 elephants and five bull hands, I approached the one who didn’t want to talk, and when he did I wished he didn’t.
“What’s the elephant’s name”? I asked to no reply.
“I heard that elephants like to be tapped instead of petted.” I said, trying to impress.
“What am I, Godamn Marlon Perkins or something? “Get out of here, funny face, or I’ll stab you”. Realizing I wasn’t in Kansas any more, I slithered back to the other First of May clown, Tim.
The term First of May comes from the 1800’s when shows would normally start to tour after the dirt roads dried out from the April showers. All rookies were called First of May’s. “You made the same mistake that I made. Ya see the circus is based on a caste system like in India. Bull men only talk to bull men. Aerialists only talk to other flyers, and clowns only talk to clowns. I’ve been here three months, and I only know the other four clowns, as everyone else seems to be so distant”, Tim said disillusioned.
Tim was a blonde-haired, Northern California kid who wore a clown face similar to mine. Both of us wore a flesh toned base, white half circles around the eyes, clown white around the mouth and red commas on our cheeks. Tim was young and scared like me and I had a sense he was OK.
SCHEEEEEE!!! The whistle blew. It was time for me to show the world that I was a great clown, to show them that I wasn’t just a birthday clown; I was as Cornel Wilde described in the movie, The Greatest Show on Earth, circus.
The clowns were next to last to enter the big top, behind the clowns came the elephants. Being the new kid, I was the last clown before Joe, the only male performing elephant in America. Male elephants are rare in the American circus because of their unpredictability, and like most men, they have one thing on their mind, but being the largest land animal with a three foot erection they do more than get into a bar fight over a woman, they wreck the town, crush a few police cars and maim just for her affections, kind of like a three ton version of John Hinkley.
Standing on top of Joe’s head was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She was a stunning redhead, and in her long, slender, painted fingers she held onto a dog leash. At the other end of that leash there was a gold and black spotted 300 pound leopard that didn’t look nice at all. It had a natural snarl, and an attitude, just as you would expect. With a nudge from my new friend, we started into the tent. “Good Luck!” Tim yelled to me.
Suddenly, from out of no where, I saw a golden flash over my left shoulder. I looked backwards and my redhead was standing there panic stricken, with an empty dog leash dangling. Looking under the stands, I saw the leopard hopping the gray metal bars that were laid out every five feet under the audience for support. The leopard was loose in the tent! I froze.
At the exclusive Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Clown College in Venice, Florida, they taught us everything I thought: elephant riding, how to take a slap, how to fall face first in to a vat of shaving cream but they didn’t teach us what to do when a snarling leopard was loose in the tent. Able to now move, I spun on my heels and walked out of the tent as fast as I could, where the back yard was empty with the voices of men shouting and women screaming, as I was shaking like a banker Okaying a border line mortgage application.
Hiding shamefully between two18 wheel trucks with Circus Vargas painted happily on their sides, I prayed like only one would pray when a leopard is loose in a circus tent. Starting another round of, “PLEASE…PLEASE… PLEASE GOD I’ll do anything…” I heard a snort, followed by a loud purr. Looking down, Tanya was rubbing up against me. The nasty looking leopard was in love with MY leg. She was docile and her purr sounded like a thousand house cats lying on a radiator in the middle of winter. From deep inside, I some how found the strength to pat her head, as I slowly scratched her ears I was finally able to gingerly slip to one knee where I was licked and slobbered over as if we were long lost friends.
“There she is, that First of May has her. Hey you guys, over here”. A dirty roustabout yelled.
“Nice job kid”. Circus owner Clifford Vargas said through his slightly gay-looking pencil-thin moustache.
I never told any one of what really happened that day because I was elevated into a position as a seasoned pro without ever having performed one second with the show. Oh, I got my chance that afternoon and evening, as we had two more shows to do that day and the next and the day after that. But I was now Circus Boy, a scared kid who happened to pick the worst place to hide…or was it.