Peek into the mind of an Artist
This is the first post on my new blog. I’m all about the circus, living my life as a creative artist and how wonderful my life with horses has been. I have many stories to share about my interesting life and have finally begun getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more and let me hear from you. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.
The bare trees of the Midwest grappled a gray sky and fields lay dormant, dusted white and cold. Soon Illinois also disappeared from beneath my tires. While driving across Missouri I realized this was Christmas Eve. All that I knew was that my parents had found a haven in the Ozarks and had assured me there was a place for me and my stuff.
After driving all night, I arrived in the little town where my parents were supposed to be early on Christmas day. I found the place called Shiloh in a large limestone building had been a hotel at one time. I saw people going into the large building. Upon entering I found the dining area filled with people and found out my parents were out of town. This community in Sulphur Springs, a charismatic Christian commune was receptive.
I was immediately welcomed. After explaining my predicament, I was taken out to their farm where the ponies were unloaded and turned loose. Then I returned to the main building and was fed the first of many wholesome meals.
The following day, my parents returned to that little town. I was filled with a deep sense of shame mixed with elation at seeing them. After being reunited, they shared the sequence of events that occurred that led them to this special place.
Shiloh originated as a group of men who fought together during WWII under a charismatic commander. When the war was over they wanted to continue living, worshiping and working together. One of the men was a baker, so they decided to start baking nutritious bread as a livelihood. While they studied spiritual practices and found ways to be of service to others they attracted others. The community expanded.
They were on the leading edge of the emerging health awareness through nutrition and natural food consciousness. Shiloh developed a big bakery operation and a distribution system for natural foods with their fleet of trucks.
My parents became part of this special community. Impressed with what was going on here, my parents decided to settle near this community and build their retirement home. For now, they occupied a bedroom in one of the many family homes. A large stone building downtown had an attic I could use for storage and a place for my bunk.
In those days Shiloh was a bustling center of communal family style activity populated with three-hundred people from babies all the way through to the elderly. The early morning lifestyle I was accustomed to existed here to albeit with a completely different look. Book study began at 6:30. They had secured a manuscript – revolutionary at the time – called ‘A Course in Miracles.’ The book study was followed by an impressive breakfast. Then the time arrived to tackle the day’s duties.
An interesting cross section of society frequented these early morning sessions. I became friends with a variety of them. Among them was a man named Robert, a quiet calculating man about my age who had found this place as the result of serendipity. He confided to me he was searching for something. He filled his days with spiritual research, contemplation and service.
With the ponies loose on their large farm and the remnants of my operation in storage, I began to wonder how I was going to continue my career as a showman without a truck. That wreck crippled my ability to be on any show. With two acts and other talents without a rig, I had zero options for the near future. The reconstruction of my ability to resume my career would take well over a year.
Billy Griffin had been on Fisher Bros Circus and later on Barnes and Dailey Circus when I was there. Now he was in the office of the Clyde Beatty Cole Bros Circus and suggested that I come to Florida and go to work. They needed a 24-hour man, the man who worked one day in advance of the show, who laid out the lot, railed the road and spotted the rigs as they arrived at the show grounds. Perhaps this job could be a stepping stone I could manage while in this predicament but not a career destination.
After being immersed in the commune lifestyle for several months, I thanked my new friends at Shiloh, bid the ponies’ goodbye and packed light for my trip with Superdog. With my thumb up while standing on the side of the road, I headed towards the next logical chapter of my life.
The aftermath of the wreck became a series of attempts. My wardrobe, props, equipment would need to stay dry. The calliope had been damaged in the wreck. I could store this stuff in a barn at the fairgrounds where the show stored their fleet. What I considered to be valuable were the sketch books of my inspired drawings produced along the road. I asked Al Stencell to take them home for safe keeping. He knew they would not fare well in the dusty barn. My beloved sketch books went with him.
I had been discarded by the circus with no means of moving ponies and equipment. Fortunately, I began to meet a series of Canadian people who helped me. First, a man with a small stable for trotting horses allowed me to keep my livestock in a paddock at his place for a while. A hard drinker himself, I joined him on adventures of going to the trotting track. This man and his horses revealed another interesting facet of the horse industry to me.
The situation at the trotting barn was temporary and he knew a couple with a larger farm south of town. After hitchhiking to meet this couple and explaining my predicament, I found a warm reception. Soon my livestock was in a stock trailer on the way to their farm in the country. This was in an area of rolling, wooded countryside. An enormous wooden barn commanded the center of their sprawling complex. The horse and ponies immediately enjoyed this expanse of still, green pasture. With them loose on this farm, I was freed to make other attempts.
I slept in the truck parked at the fairgrounds at first. Getting my equipment safe and monitoring the livestock required lots of walking and hitchhiking. While walking through town, during a happenstance meeting on the street, I met a smiling, curly long-haired young fellow with an attractive girlfriend. I must have seemed out of place and he was curious and proactive. After hearing my tale of circumstance, he opened up and offered to help. He lived in an apartment over a store downtown. Soon thereafter, I became part of his circle of friends. Pete became my closest ally as I went through this difficult time.
I was learning lessons about human nature. When someone goes through an unfortunate episode in their life, others do as in nature and the injured is pecked to death. I had been discarded, left to figure out this predicament on my own. Pete was a godsend. Perhaps even a good Samaritan.
Just having an audience to explain my predicament allowed inspiration for solutions to occur. Plus, I was out on the street in a foreign country. I was powerless. As Pete welcomed me into his home, a turning point in how I viewed humanity occurred. With cold weather coming fast, I was running out of money. He had regard for my situation. I took Pete up on his offer of a warm couch.
The condition of the wrecked truck seemed hopeless to drive the distance I had to go. Instead of attempting to make it road worthy, I became involved in salvaging all I could and store these commodities with the rest of my equipment and belongings. Then, with great reluctance, I took the rig to a nearby junk yard. I asked the man behind the desk to compensate me for whatever value occurred as the parts were sold. I then left my beloved rig behind. I never heard anything from him.
With my equipment secure in a barn, a comfortable couch in a warm apartment, and camaraderie with a boisterous bunch of Ontario youth, I began to pursue possibilities for getting the livestock across the border into Michigan. I hitchhiked south to the farm in the country where my livestock grazed.
First, the couple with the farm wanted to show me some hospitality. We went on a road trip to a nearby drinking establishment. After an evening of music, food, drinking, dancing, laughter and conviviality, they had an announcement. My hosts were planning a trip to take an empty stock trailer to the horse sale at St Johns, Michigan to buy and bring back a load of horses. That meant they could drop off my livestock across the border.
A friend of Clarence Hastings had a farm on the way to that sale in Grass Lake. He made a call and yes, I could have them dropped off there. Now all I had to do was get my livestock health and customs papers in order. I was flabbergasted. This was perfect for getting my livestock to Michigan. I was in luck. I got the papers in order, helped load my ponies and horse in the stock trailer and watched as they pulled out onto the road that headed west.
Next on the agenda was to get my personal stuff and the remaining equipment out of Ontario. I would have to select a destination. My parents had moved from the Chicago suburbs to the suburbs of Kansas City. While they lived there, my having ponies made it difficult to visit for any length of time, although once having a picket line across their manicured lawn did create quite a sensation in the neighborhood. All I knew at this time was that they had moved again. This time into the Ozarks. I suppose I could go there to an unknown destination.
The situation for the livestock in Grass Lake ended up being more temporary than was originally implied. Before I could get the rest of my belongings out of Ontario, I received a strong indication from the farm owner that she wanted me to come get them moved and moved now. This was unfortunate with the sequence I had planned, but matched the tendency of human nature I was finding out about. I had to postpone the attempt to get my load of stuff rolling and attend to this almost impossible task of traveling several hundred miles on foot to move my livestock fifteen miles. My quest was clear although I had no idea how I was going to do this.
I began to hitchhike from up near Ottawa the length of Ontario. I planned to cross the border at Detroit at night and go into Michigan.
Hitchhiking can provide either a seamless trip to the destination, or a series of extended waits in obscure locations while attempting to appeal to a driver. This time my trip was entirely in cold weather. On a positive note, my hitchhiking was facilitated due to my constant companion Superdog. By keeping the white fluffy nature of this American Eskimo spitz attractive, he became a ride magnet.
Although never on a leash while we were on the road with the circus, during these hitchhiking sessions, I carried a long shoe lace to keep him safely secured to my backpack while standing next to the busy highway. I learned to travel light. The front top pockets of my denim jacket carried special cargo. One was filled with sunflower seeds and the other raisins.
During our trip across Ontario and on towards Michigan, we were blessed with plentiful rides until arriving close to Windsor. Late at night, we waited alongside the highway in the dark with large snowflakes swirling all around. After a long, cold wait, one car finally gave us a ride. At the port of entry, we walked across the bridge to the American side in the wee hours.
Detroit was scary. I was grateful when a black man with whisky on his breath finally picked me up and gave me a ride out of the inner city as dawn approached. Once daylight returned I was in familiar country.
Upon arrival at the Wolcott farm, I saw no immediate danger. My erratic host had a litany of reasons why my livestock couldn’t stay. I was able to borrow her stock trailer and a pickup truck. I thanked her for receiving my ponies and horse from my friends in Canada and once loaded, headed toward friendlier territory. Reunited at Hayes farm, the livestock had a safe place to stay for a while.
Once at Hayes home, I caught up on the sleep missed and once refreshed, began to attend to the tasks at hand. Hayes helped me return the truck and stock trailer.
This visit coincided with Thanksgiving. Hayes was busy making his signature dressing. I was invited to stay and join them for dinner later that evening. He agreed to tend to Superdog for a while. With waning warmth outside, at the brink of a long hitchhiking trip back into Ontario ahead of me, I reluctantly declined participating at this most welcome meal and assumed my place on the side of the road with my thumb up. The return trip was a repeat of alternate riding in warmth and standing out in the cold.
When I returned from getting my livestock moved, it was time to retrieve equipment. I returned to the barn where the remains of my operation were stored. The Bogan amp used for my sideshow presentation was missing. It probably showed up mysteriously on the circus the next season. Disbelief accompanied the blend of grief, shame and frustration as I attempted to salvage the remains of my empire. A bigger lesson would follow.
Thank goodness for the friendly reception and the helpful nature of my new friend Pete. He provided a welcome distraction. To this day, I remain grateful for his display of regard. The genuine interest radiated by this fellow human being was an example of being a friend. I sought escape from shame through alcohol. With my new friend, the new distraction was most welcome.
Through Pete, I was introduced to the party culture of Canada. In the center of every Canadian city was a hotel. I was already familiar with this feature in every community from the several circus tours I participated with across several provinces. This was party central. Just a short walk from their apartment was the Smiths Falls Hotel with its large dark area inside for drinking and listening to the rock bands that regularly came to town. I soon became familiar with the cross section of people in attendance, the echelon that partied with the band afterwards and joined in with the insatiable appetite of the crowd that wanted more, more, more. Now I was part of the rebellious youth that flocked to the laughter, excitement, the loud beat, the alcohol and chemistry induced frenzy, seeking mutual self-indulgent emotional peaks, romance and reveling in continual amazing achievements. But this couldn’t last forever.
Up until this time I was too ashamed to call my mother and father to admit what I had done. Two months had gone by and I hadn’t called home. Having run out of options with resources depleted, I called to ask for help. I met enthusiasm. They sent funds which were to be used for my exodus, although a portion went for the riotous living taking place.
In the middle of December, the temperature took a tremendous dip. One morning, some of the guys showed up to take Pete and his roommate Tom with them. They all put on their snow suits and were going to go help a man put up a log cabin outside. I wanted to go but was forbid to leave the apartment because of my lack of winter clothing. This was an indicator of the serious nature of this predicament I was in that motivated me to make my move.
I told the man at the U-Haul store that I needed a truck to move some musical instruments for a rock band from one hotel to another over the weekend. I secured a truck big enough for everything. I then drove the big box truck to the fairgrounds. After loading everything left over from my wrecked rolling monument to circusdom, I left my new friends prior to the threat of more snow and headed for Michigan. I cherish what I had learned and vowed to stay in touch. Retracing the hitchhiking path, I found this form of mobility a big improvement.
I crossed my fingers. I went across the US border at 4 AM. They flagged me on by, without having to stop. I entered my country without hassle. I went straight to Clarklake to see Hayes, where the ponies were lodged. After a good night’s sleep on his couch, I created a bulkhead out of a palette. This created a way to leave the cargo door open on the back for ventilation for the ponies. After loading them in the truck, I began driving toward an unknown destination in Arkansas where my parents were. I left Bingo the horse behind at Hayes farm in Michigan.
Intensely independent to a fault, I wasn’t receptive to the suggestions of some of my fellow showmen who saw a problem with the engineering of the trailer hitch I had built myself. The challenge of putting a trailer behind a big truck is with the highway pounding that is amplified by a hitch that is far from the rear axle. I had stretched the frame on the truck for this big box, creating a hostile environment behind for the trailer to withstand. In an effort to solve this problem, I built a swinging hitch stabilized with a leaf spring. But rather than compromise the storage area over the hitch and allow for movement needed to negotiate severe driveways, I inadvertently created an up and down stress magnifier. Any severe angle I drove through transferred tremendous strain through my hitch into the trailer frame, promoting breakage.
The rigors of the jumps promoted breakage on the frame of the calliope trailer hooked behind this monster rig. Sometimes the breaks were so drastic that I couldn’t continue. Staying behind to get the cracks in the frame strengthened took time away from performing. I was instead parked next to a welding shop with my livestock unloaded nearby.
During this respite, I would often saddle up the horse and go for a long ride. Also tagging along on the trail ride was the baby pony and my two dogs. In addition to my trusty companion Superdog, I had adopted a Samoyed, who I named Imanova.
As a group of five, we would head one direction for a mile, then turn north and continue for another mile. While on these outings, I not only bonded with these critters, but while in the saddle I had yet another opportunity to study the details of this foreign land. Repeating this pattern of change in direction yielded a continual visual assessment of my new surroundings. We made a curious sight along the way. Tall guy, big horse, small pony baby and two white dogs on parade in the country.
There is a rhythm, as I have mentioned many times before, that takes place with the population of a circus doing one day stands. As the energy is expounded, the routine is not unlike controlled fusion. But when an interruption comes to the routine of continual effort, time alone can become a foreign experience and the wheels keep spinning. I already consumed beer on a regular basis, burning off the effects as energy was invested throughout the day. Now with idle time, waiting for repairs, the same consumption rate expanded to produce other consequences. Mixed with an inclination to explore, with my guard down, I sought interesting places to mix with my environment and consume.
While broke down in Dauphin, I attended the Ukrainian festival, a drinking festival. The aftermath seemed to be streets sprinkled with the broken glass of many beer bottles. When the repairs were complete, with a head full of cobwebs, I caught up to the show. Then it was time to resume the insane pace of working all day and continue to party every night.
Near the end of the season at one town in northern Ontario, situation created a new scenario. All day rains made the lot soft. After the elephants pulled everything off the lot, there was no place to park the fleet. The decision was made by management to drive that night to the next town, 250 miles away. I had already made plans that night to see the band at the hotel and eat some pizza. I figured after the party I would do my driving.
Never occurring to me that this wasn’t very smart, while driving late that night, I nodded at the wheel. Hearing the rumble strips, I woke abruptly to see that I was going off the road. Panicked, I yanked the steering wheel hard to the right in an attempt to get straight and back on the road, but the angle was too steep. I watched the horizon rotate clockwise to assume a vertical stance as the top-heavy rig laid over on its side. Once the huge thump and the skidding stopped, I was stunned. I had to stand up in the now sideways cab, reach up to open the passenger door that was over my head. After crawling out, I stood on the side of the rig to realize the predicament I was in.
Feelings sank as I heard the ponies clamber helplessly inside the rig that was now on its side. I was now wide awake. Not knowing what to do in the depth of night on this forlorn road in the middle of the desolate wilderness of northern Ontario, I began to walk. After what seemed a significant hike, I came to a house and went up the long drive to the front door and knocked. I awakened the couple that resided there who then became helpful and called the police.
Then a series of interactions with rescue personalities began. Back at the accident site, I saw how narrowly my truck missed going down a deep ravine instead of resting against the telephone pole that prevented its further decline. As I assessed the damage with the rescue crew, I saw my horse lying on the side of the road knocked out. He had slid up the inside wall and burst through the metal roof. Jagged metal edges now surrounded him. Being knocked out was a blessing that prevented him from flailing and shredding his legs against the jagged metal.
A group of us dragged him away from that danger. The sun was just coming up as the wrecker arrived to upright the rig. A local horseman had been called to show up with a stock trailer to take the ponies and horse off the roadside to his farm. I would discover, only a few days later, that he wanted an exorbitant fee for his troubles, validating a suspicion that what he really wanted was to keep my ponies. Miraculously, only one pony had a splinter in his neck. The entire troop was unhurt.
The wrecker took the rig first to the circus grounds. My fellow showmen were shocked at the sight. I was filled with an immense shame for what I had done. There on the lot, after the show left for the next town, I began to attempt to get the wreck ready to roll again. I wrapped a long chain around the burst box to keep it closed and pried the bent metal features of my beloved pony truck into a useable situation. Then I started it up.
With steam and motor fluids coming from the engine, I drove to where the ponies were turned loose in a paddock, paid the extortionist his fee and loaded the livestock, except for the baby who he received as part of his pay. I crept toward what I hoped was a friendly town, where the show planned to winter the equipment at the fairgrounds. There I found a man with a trotting horse stable who let me put my stock in an empty paddock.
I was lost, not knowing where to turn. I hitchhiked back to the show, and after eating at the cookhouse, John Frazier revealed his true nature to me. To him I was just a commodity. I think that Al Stencell was inclined to want to help me but was quieted by his partner. John realized without means to get my enterprise to the next lot, I was no longer useful to him and eating in the cookhouse cost money. He became a belligerent, unfeeling monster and ran me off the show.
I went from that place dazed. On top of the shame that compounded with disbelief for what I had done, a myriad of other feelings propelled me into an emotional bottom. Doubly tragic was the premise held that the circus was my family. I was learning through this predicament the hard way that my value to this family is conditional. I had learned as a child that I get my value from what I produce. This explained why I obsessively added to my repertoire.
Without my ability to produce, I was alone. Now with an aggregation of bent up, useless equipment and livestock stranded in a foreign country, I am rejected by my people. In the midst of a deepening grief, I realize the magnitude of what I had done. I was alone with this mess. In the depths of depression, I slowly began to attend to immediate needs. One of which was to try to extinguish the deepening grief. Somehow.
During the season of 1976, I began to have additional opportunities to study my surroundings. Unscheduled retreats to peruse picturesque places occurred while I waited for tire repairs. And later, when the structural features of my trailer began to break, welding repairs. The year unfolded to become a series of leap-frogs from show towns to repair places, and then back to the show. As the result, I am not of the contention that the best way to see the world is while traveling on a circus.
It is true that the entire troupe of a big top circus doing one-day stands is involved with canvassing a large area but while doing so, they remain involved in accomplishing repetitive tasks that often require being surrounded by the same environment each day. Sort of like the potato peeling navy man sailing the seven seas.
One jump across the vast grain belt area of Saskatchewan, I had a concern about my fuel and thought perhaps I could make it to the next community with a fuel stop. Wrong. As I coasted to a stop alongside the long straight road that sliced through vast grain fields that stretched toward both horizons, I had an opportunity to truly study this broad country.
Once the noise of the engine stopped, I was immersed in silence. The first thing I noticed as I scanned my situation was the feel of the gentle breeze massaging the pale jade young crop in the field. As I walked around the rig, I saw wild flowers hugging the only surface not commanded by farmer or highway.
The sky was large and had a mauve tone close to the horizon even though the sun was well up. Off in the distance I saw a miniscule motion that piqued my interest. As my attention zeroed in on this activity, I saw a large tractor pulling an even larger device designed to cultivate a huge swath as it passed over a section of land. While watching, I saw it go a tremendous distance and made a U-turn to travel parallel to the area just covered. I was then able to predict where the giant device would be going next.
I watched his long slow dance across the field and reviewed my options. I was inspired. I started a long walk, stepping over the rows of young plants and headed for the middle of the field where I predicted the farmer would pass. As the place where our paths would cross loomed closer, the driver saw me and when convenient for him, stopped that massive machine.
Double sets of high ridged tires stood higher than me. The driver had to exit the glassed-in cab and descend the steps that hung between the tires to get to where he could greet me. I told him about my predicament that seemed almost self-explanatory anyway and he laughed. He pointed towards the far end of the field where his pickup was parked. He would retrieve the gas can inside and fetch it to me on the return pass.
Standing in the field, I watched as the massive machine resumed its task of pulling an enormous device over, but not harming any plants, and considered my rig now off in the distance. A beautiful rig that now seemed tiny, dependent on my consistent maintenance. Yes, this was the way to see Canada.
On the return pass, my friendly host brought me a gas can with fuel inside that soon rocked my engine back to life. I drove forward to the lane where his farm truck waited and placed the can in the back. I was then able to continue my trip. From that intimate peek at this facet of a wonderful land, I resumed the juggernaut of activity that yielded entertainment for the people my rescuer probably knew.
The auction barn in the middle of the fairgrounds in Hugo, Oklahoma during the off- season of 1975-76 had become a familiar place. Now during my third winter, energy was invested as I learned to work the horse that Bob Grubb had not only trained to perform a circus act but had raised from a baby. Now as a five-year-old, “Bingo” could march, bow, side step, lay down, sit up, rear, volte, and do the camel stretch. Each rigorous session with this horse concluded when Bob saw an improvement in how we were getting along and instructed me to “walk him cool.”
Part of what I enjoyed with this horse was to just get away and go for a ride. The streets of Hugo were used to seeing unusual sights around town because of the circus people who lived here. Occasional mornings we deviated from the rigors of practice and Bingo and I went sightseeing. This was a reward for doing well.
His father was buckskin with a black mane and tail and his mother was a white and sorrel paint horse. The combination they conceived was a white and buckskin paint body with white legs and a black mane. Spectacular was his tail; white with a black tip.
My time in the saddle became a time to think through the many other tasks that were waiting and to organize a plan for accomplishing them in the afternoon. This equine enterprise came with additional fascinating elements. Julie, one of the ponies, was pregnant. With Bob’s encouragement, we situated a foaling stall for her in the barn.
One rainy morning we discovered a wet baby in the stall. As we watched, the little wonder struggled at first to find a way up to her feet. After a few wobbly attempts, she finally stood. Seeing this wonder cemented awe. This addition to the group, as the season progressed, would prove as yet another target for my affection and an ongoing source of fun.
I had a challenge not predicted. The truck allowed great comfort for just the pony act. In order to haul the horse in the truck, I had to rearrange the floor plan. Instead of ample room for just them with the manger alongside an entire side, the interior of the truck received changes. Part of the manger was removed; the ponies were squeezed tight to the front and a standing stall was built along the outside wall for “Bingo.” The remaining area in the other corner was reserved for Julie and the baby. A small wall prevented Bingo’s front feet from stepping on anyone in front of him. I had to cross-tie his head up high to keep him from biting Finley, who now stood underneath and in front of him.
Adding the horse pushed the limit of this truck over the top. As the winter practice session came to its conclusion, the time arrived to go. I headed toward another brief tour, this time across Louisiana. I would perform the horse act for the first time. Then my plan was for another tour of Canada. Starting in Louisiana in the spring with what was left of the old Fisher Bros Circus, I worked my new act in front of sparse crowds.
The season of 1976 began with tire trouble. The pony truck was now overloaded. The leaf springs seemed to be getting tired. To prevent the tires from rubbing the underside of the truck box, I placed blocks of wood as spacers between the overloaded leaf springs. At one time I thought the best way to see the country would be on a traveling circus. That is just not true. The best way to see the details that abound and get to know the locals in this country is to be broke down between towns on a circus. I would see plenty this season.
At one location in Louisiana it was impossible to continue my trip without replacing tires. I was in picturesque bayou country. Spanish moss hung from Grandfather Oak trees. My rig stopped along a quiet road. I had room to unload. The ponies were out on the picket line, with the baby and Bingo nearby. I awaited assistance from a tire service truck. While there I studied the details of the weathered surroundings bleached by the relentless sun.
A long, low wooden building with large porch had no exterior indications to hint at what was inside aside from the neon beer signs in the windows. Completely open sided most of the year, a corrugated metal roof provided shade. Old wooden chairs invited comfort on the creaky wooden floor. A spring-loaded screen door with a porcelain “Tetley Tea” push bar across the middle would slam after each customer pried it open and went in or out.
This was not a highly traveled road. My compromised parking site on the side of the road was not a big concern for the slow-moving people in this sparsely populated and pleasant area. When the tire truck arrived my ability to roll down the highway was restored. I returned to the pace of two shows a day for the remaining weeks of the short season.
An oasis occurred when that short tour was over partway to the opening town. Those of us heading to Canada stopped at a family farm in Missouri to lay over for a few days. At that place I had an opportunity to paint the red stripe around the truck box. I also saw the remains of the hippopotamus semi that I took care of a few years prior. Ava had died. It was rusting, unused in the woods. We left in plenty of time to make the long trip to Alberta for the opening of season 1976 with Royal Bros Circus.
Prior to Memorial Day, the long jump to western Canada was complete and we were ready to open early summer. In addition to the six-pony liberty act and my new horse act, I played the pre-show calliope concert on the midway and became “David McDavid” the bagpipe player in the side show. I also worked the magic act as taught to me by Dennis Michael where I had the bird whistle pitch.
The baby pony, only months old, had begun to prefer hanging around Bingo, who was loose while other ponies were secure on the picket line. With increasing bravado, the baby’s territory increased. The baby began to follow us while I rode Bingo. The performance each day started with Spec, the parade of all the performers around the three rings in the big top. While I rode my horse, the little baby trotted along behind to the amusement of everybody.
The Royal Bros Circus opened the 1976 season in southern Alberta. The route took us up into the foot hills of the Rockies to several spectacular resort towns. In the midst of this rugged splendor, a flat place large enough to put up a circus was rare but, there we were. The raggedy old big top with our curious collection of rolling stock was pitched between the imposing mountains that dwarfed us and our specific intention. One day was especially memorable.
One sunshiny day prior to the matinee with the mountains looming all around us, I remember standing on the bally platform with the others during the side show opening. A sudden gust of wind blew way up in the mountains. A few moments later we were lightly dusted with the snow dislodged from the high altitudes. A chill of delight passed through the crowd accompanied this surprise. In a few moments the sun warmed us back up. We were immersed in some of the most picturesque country I had ever seen accumulating vivid memories.
One magical, dark morning, I drove into the tempering horizon with the foothills at my back. The roadbed leveled onto a long flat stretch. Ahead I saw a layer of fog that looked like a lakebed settled on the lower altitude. As the jump continued, I descended into this foggy area and became immersed in dense, misty surroundings. Visual access to the surrounding terrain disappeared. This was the fog of the cliché about your hand in front of your face.
Mile after mile I drove with utmost caution. Unknown to me, the sun began to rise. Accumulating light slowly illuminated the surface of this layer of fog, just above me. A visual sensation began and became a magical dance of light. An ocular rhythm occurred due to moving forward underneath the surface of this sea of fog. The light interacted with the irregular surface of the cloud and combined with a slow turbulence as it responded to the warming rays of sunshine. The visual experience that morning was not unlike the mystique of the Aurora Borealis.
On the other side of that long low stretch, an incline allowed me to emerge from the fog, where I witnessed the most splendiferous sunrise I have ever seen, in a sky so huge it must obviously have some of Montana’s mixed in with it.
This spectacular wonder was just one of the many visual sensations that mixed with the joy of being a performing horseman, creative in many ways that also served to validate the original decision to join the circus. To this day I remain on the lookout to continue seeing new wonders in this world that God has created. This life I have been gifted with continues to fill me with awe and zeal for each and every new day.
On the big spectacular three ring circus of yesteryear, horses commanded the performance tober. The lavish warm-up display prior to the presentation of the elite dancing horse act, was a massive pageant of Manege horses filling all the rings and the hippodrome track in front of the audience. Among the circus equestrian performing arts, the Manege horse is an entry-level performing animal that the novice rider soon fulfills. Famous for the lay-down, sit up, bow, march and camel stretch, these poses are manageable by most riders, thus the name.
Dozens of horses were choreographed to perform these movements in time with the music prior to the introduction of the true star of the show, the Haute E’cole or High School or horse schooled to the highest level.
With that spectacle over, all eyes were directed to the highest-ranking equestrian performer of all. Classic horsemanship movements, the result of years of training and rehearsal, were then demonstrated to the audience. Passage, piaffe; high trot, march, canter changes, even the backwards canter with one elevated foreleg. These remarkable movements qualify as poetic and gymnastic and share the echelon populated by opera, ballet, orchestra and Shakespeare virtuosos. I had recently witnessed this rich tradition at Chuck Grant’s farm and my creative mind began to dream bigger dreams.
I had been saving my money during season 1975 to buy Bob Grubb’s horse “Bingo,” a Buckskin Tobiano Paint Horse with spectacular markings. Standing at 15.2 hands, his stocky quarter horse frame would provide me with a handsome steed. When the season was over, the riding lessons with Clarence gave me a foundation for beginning. Now back at the fairgrounds in Hugo, the time came for the purchase and to begin to learn how to work my new horse. I started learning another circus act.
With my six-pony liberty act, I had created a wonderful career with a promising future. Once the startup hurdle was over, the animals became seasoned performers. This package was perfect in many ways. The magnitude of work to get to this place had been rewarding and the experience would help me in ways I would realize later. Now the business of having this pony act settled into finding opportunities to perform on a regular basis and the ongoing maintenance on the road.
Another aspect that made this small business perfect was that I had options other animal handlers did not have. For extended periods I could place them on pasture during the off season, freeing me to pursue other opportunities. I actually credit these ponies with making me a better sign painter. No matter what, they kept right on eating. That motivated me ongoingly to find and secure sign work.
Now I was adding a Manege horse to the lineup. I still had plenty to learn about this genre of horsemanship. The success of this enterprise required developing relationships with others. Networking within the circus industry is how one kept an act booked. Established circus families had strong connections that resulted from many generations of activity. The upper echelon of circus performers was a close-knit family that trusted only time-honored generational links to the industry. I was the new guy and because of my childhood I was reluctant.
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During the five years I provided the palomino liberty act to big top circuses, the most I ever worked in one season was twenty-seven weeks. Compared to the lucrative experiences enjoyed at the beginning of my career, the pay I received for this attractive collection of performing ponies did not match the investment.
I had been lucky right out of high school with Mel Silverlake, who wanted my creative skills. I had been in the right place at the right time, landing a lucrative role with his show. I had not learned several valuable social lessons in this industry. My mind was always on, but I was lost in the creative realm of visualizing more of what I wanted. I hadn’t developed an interest in others. Booking employment for horse acts and negotiating pay required skills and knowledge I did not possess. I was taken advantage of by shrewd producers and selfish circus owners. I was an outsider, not coming from a circus family. This promoted a skepticism and an aloofness that I didn’t understand or know how to break through. But it didn’t seem to stop me. I added a horse to my line up.
Perhaps the writing was on the wall in regard to horses in the circus of the future. Regardless, I continued with my plans to become bigger and better than ever. I had found another way to thrive. I was fortunate that when the ponies were loose on pasture I could chase and secure sign painting to do.
As Bob showed me how to make my new horse bow, stretch, kneel and march. I utilized the riding skills that Clarence had taught me. I began to speak the language to my horse that came through my seat, hands and attitude from the saddle.
Bob continued to teach me how to get this new horse through the paces each morning. Each morning our routine was to practice with supervision, covering all the movements. Then rehearsing a possible routine, striving to maintain the proper posture and attitude the whole time.
While learning the lay-down starting with a kneel, from where the horse would roll down onto his side, I had to make sure to keep my leg away from his side as he laid over, or else I would become pinned to the ground with a half-ton laying on my leg. I was taught to hold my left leg out when the barrel of the horse became steeply inclined, and this became instinctive.
After an intense session Bob would encourage me to go on a leisurely ride around town and along the country roads to get familiar with my horse and to give him a quiet reward. I had grandiose ambitions and while immersed in this learning curve, I would also find out there was a lot to love with having a horse. A horse is a magnificent and wiling animal and the reason that mankind has been able to accomplish so much throughout history. Once the horse understands what is being asked, he is willing to comply. He develops a work ethic that is directly related to the consistency of the rider or trainer, forcing an honesty to the surface. Results don’t lie.
At one time, a fighting warrior mounted on a horse wielding a sharp saber had the most advantageous place on the battlefield. Automatic weapons changed all that. Overnight, the cavalryman became the prime target for the machine gun. Realizing this shift in advantage promoted phasing out of these centuries old tradition of discipline, pride and honor on horseback.
Clarence told me a story from his younger days, during his early career when he was with the cavalry. He was an officer and riding instructor up until the time the cavalry was abolished. The story he told was about that historic moment, on a sunny, postcard perfect afternoon in the midst of acres and acres of horses and mounted men, assembled for the last official order of the US Cavalry. Thousands of men were on horses, the groups delineating precise shapes across the rolling landscape in Virginia. Also significant was that this was the only time the entire force had ever been assembled in one location.
Once these thousands of horses and men were assembled all around him and the ranks became quiet with only flags flapping in the breeze, horses snorting and stomping, sword sheaths clinking and leather creaking can get, he heard the order given from the general in chief over the loudspeaker.
“Prepare to dismount,” echoed several times.
The order filtered down through the ranks, repeated by the subsequent ranking officers until the order was finally repeated to those in the outlying areas of that great assembly a full twenty minutes later. Then, after an appropriate moment had passed by, the final official order of the United States Cavalry was issued.
“Dismount,” echoed out over this massive collection of men and equine.
With that seemingly insignificant order, the historic tradition of fighting men on horses as part of military strategy in the United States came to a close.
By autumn 1975, my six-pony liberty act was working well, having completed the recent summer tour of Canada on the Royal Bros Circus. The next logical step to augment my ambition as a performer was to have a dancing horse. The Ganiard home in Michigan offered respite between tours and Hayes enjoyed hearing my strategy. Frequenting Clarklake had become a regular pattern of my behavior.
Earlier that year, the topic of having a performing horse occurred in conversation. My idea was met with encouragement and a surprise resources with which to start. I learned Hayes had a friend who was a riding instructor who lived nearby. For my lessons I was welcome to ride the family horse Coco, a black mare that had helped dozens of 4-H kids learn how to ride. Hayes equipped me with the bridle and saddle I needed, and soon thereafter, my riding instructor showed up to get me started.
Clarence Hastings had a snippety proper air about him. He had a curious upward hook on the edges of his smile, and a radiance that beamed from the sculpted features of his face. He had a specific way of standing in repose with one arm behind his back, palm out, holding the other arm at the elbow. This is the way I remember seeing him stand at the edge of our riding area, as he gave me instructions to follow. Clarence drove out frequently to give me these riding lessons in the fall of that year.
During the visits before and after these lessons I got to know more about this special man. His career began, first in the cavalry and then as a huntsman in charge of stables for the affluent. Like Hayes, he had a love for anything circus and had even dabbled in the theater.
Between riding sessions, I tended to the ponies, worked on sign work for the Beach Bar, and built improvements for my rig.
As the years went by, Michigan remained a regular stop to share tales of circus adventures with, not only Hayes, but now especially Clarence, as my circle of friends with positive influence on my life expanded. During these visits I became especially close to Clarence and listened to many stories of when he was in charge of hunt stables for the affluent. He had a big job. As the master huntsman he was in charge of the staff who provided care for the stable full of horses, the maintenance of the surrounding property and the care of saddles and tack. He also purchased hay, feed, blankets, special accouterments and everything else that went into the reason all of this existed: the hunt.
The master of the hunt rode first in the group of mounted owners, guests and support persons, following the pack of dogs on the trail of a fox. Tradition dictated hierarchy amongst the participants in the pursuit. The guest of honor rode up front. This person also received the cherished prize when the hunt was over – a forefoot cut off the dead fox. This was presented in a ceremonious way by the master of the hunt. Specific anecdotes from numerous hunts provided fodder for our evenings full of reminiscing. These fascinating stories from a privileged echelon of society revealed another dimension of my friend and added to the richness of what I admired.
In addition to the lessons, Clarence was able to give me a peek into the world he was introducing me to. During a special excursion Clarence took me to nearby Brighton, where he served as the director of a group of horsemen aspiring to give an exhibition performance. I rode along with my new friend to witness the rehearsal of “Horse Capades” at the farm of Chuck Grant, a garish horseman who also had a background with the cavalry. Later in Chuck’s career while running a fine riding stable in Chicago, he met and worked with the Konyot family of circus fame during their winter layoffs. Arthur taught him the finer aspects of classic horsemanship. He took what he learned to become the Grandfather of Dressage in America, and an esteemed instructor of riding and the trainer of upper level dressage horses. The best way to describe Chuck Grant is brassy. He was always first to call your attention to that which was good, especially if it was some aspect of himself. “You gotta toot your own horn, or else someone is going to use it as a spittoon”
As I watched from the seats at one end of the arena, the group of eight riders and horses began to rehearse their precision drill that showcased classic horsemanship. The group first began to parade around the indoor arena in single file following their leader. One by one, they imitated the example Chuck provided, assuming a similar posture going around the outside and then through the diagonal path across the arena, where two-tracks or side-stepping was demonstrated.
The rehearsal also included canter departs and changes, reversing direction by riding half a loop and walking the center line with alternating horses bent in either direction all staying on the same path. After this precision riding, more fun took place. One by one, each rider and horse found a place side by side across the center of the arena to stop. Then, all together, they asked their horses to tuck up one fore leg, lean back and put one knee on the ground for the bow.
Later, more amazing things happened with this group. I saw all the horses march, lay down, sit up, and after getting back up on all fours, do the camel stretch. As I watched in amazement from the plank I sat on at one end of the arena, Clarence was helpful with explaining what was going on. This glimpse at classic horsemanship gave me a new direction for the focus of my attention. The accumulation of knowledge and this new discipline would become both a passion and an obsession.
One winter, I made a road trip with Clarence to a circus fans home where a pre-shrine circus party was going on. Here I saw him in his element amongst an advantaged portion of society. His magnetism was apparent as the ladies gravitated around him to bask in his mystique. Active and entertaining, the conga line benefited from his zeal. He never married but did confide to me that one widow of a wealthy family wanted to cement their union and that perhaps he regretted not actually doing that. I suppose that his being a bachelor was established. His example revealed a hint at the flamboyance and the regard he had for others that radiated from his rich personality. We had many a get-togethers over the years and shared many facts about ourselves. I came to know and love this horsemanship icon from a unique industry and savor to this day, the influence he had on my life.
Autumn gradually turned colder. Our regular riding lessons became a situation where I was riding in deep snow and Clarence was sitting nearby in the comfort of his car. The miles I practiced sitting in the saddle properly, posting to the trot, guiding my horse through corners and making transitions – from walk to trot, trot to canter, canter to trot, trot to walk and walk to halt and stand – were all preparing me for the next logical step in my career. But the time had come to head south.
Escape from the snow took me on a track towards Hugo, Oklahoma. Bob Grubb had “Bingo” the horse waiting for me. He had raised and trained this colt to perform a circus routine. I immediately began to practice the exercises introduced to me by Clarence on this new horse, and learn all the motions that would result in his circus repertoire with the supervision of Bob Grubb.
Soon I was rehearsing in the practice ring in the barn the routine I would present on the circus that included march, lay down, sit up, camel stretch and rear.
I opened on a little touring circus in Louisiana in the spring. Bingo had become attached to the string of ponies. I could simply turn him loose while the ponies were on the picket line and he would remain close by. Julie had a foal in the spring, who was loose all the time, nursing on her mother. She learned to hang around the horse because he was more interesting than staying with mom who was tied up all the time. Soon the baby was following the horse into the big top for spec, the beginning of the show parade around the interior of the big top. Many people marveled at the sight of this little baby following that big horse. By Memorial Day I was headed northwest to open in Alberta, Canada with the Royal Bros Circus for the summer.
The show entertained Canadian crowds all across Ontario and the next three provinces with route that went as far north as one could drive. We went west into farm country. Long, straight flat roads sliced through vast fields punctuated with occasional grain elevators. These farms counted size in increments of sections or square miles.
While the Royal Bros Circus enjoyed the vast breadbasket of western Canada curious regional characteristics required adaptation. There were no feed stores. As the show consumed hay and feed, those of us who required these commodities learned to interact with the locals who had vast farms. I learned to keep my empty burlap feed sacks and make my own deal between towns at one of the farms along the way. This is where I could shovel oats from their heap to fill my bags. The procedure as I spied a farm complex was to find the main buildings, pull into the compound, meet the personnel and make my own deal. I learned to keep my feed barrel full. In each province the show went as far north as the roads would take us. We went to remote places where these commodities did not exist.
After hop-scotching around and through this vast flat area, we headed for the northernmost town in Manitoba. Flin Flon is a mining town that grew where the geologic features that are normally deep in the earth are convenient at the surface making the mining of nickel, copper and other valuable minerals relatively easy. Prior to the trip we were warned to have our fuel tanks full because a hundred miles of the trip had no gas stations.
Billy Loter was the grandson of the organist Marie, who I played for as sideman during my Fisher Bros days. He was on the show here in various capacities and we became friends. During leisure time between shows, we adopted a style of making rhythmic sounds using almost nothing except our bodies. We experimented with slapping, clicking, snapping, popping, clapping, stomping and the like, often while walking somewhere. Some of the distant, exotic communities we played with the circus warranted investigation. Flin Flon was no different. After the show was over, we headed for town.
In this curious land of the far north, the surface of the earth had no soil, only rolling boils of solid rock. Because of this no utilities were underground. A curious infrastructure of boxes that contained the electric, water (and steam to keep it warm) utilities linked all the houses and buildings together. Every so often a stair-style led up and over the system of boxes. On our hike we went downtown and among the sights we found was the historic railroad station. While regarding this ancient structure we learned that this manner of transportation was at one time the only way in or out until the highway was built. While there we spied two pedestal steps used to assist passengers on and off the railroad cars. They resembled the pedestals used by many acts on the show.
On our return trip, heading back to the circus lot (the only flat place around where they gathered to play baseball) we took a route that placed us on a high overlook. From this perch we stopped to continue our rhythmic hamboning fun. As we looked down at the web of lights that delineated the streets and dwellings of the town and continued our fun, we became completely captivated in the magical moment. Suddenly in the midst of this merry making, we noticed something different. But as we looked around we couldn’t quite put our finger on what it was. Then the lights of the town came back on. We then realized that we had witnessed a blackout. Confident that the interruption had been caused by our riffs, chops and the ripple effect of our enthusiastic rhythms radiating outward, we vowed to keep the volume down in the interest of being good community stewards.
Bonnie Bonta also clowned on the show. She was an older widow with a circus background. She had a slight misshapen mouth that did not interfere with her enthusiasm. In the cookhouse, I heard her tales about being on shows in the past with her husband and how her son has carried on the tradition with various acts of his own. She had a slight handicap, a hitch in her giddy-up, I guess you’d say, that affected her gait. She drove a tall pickup truck with a camper on the back. The climb getting into the back of the camper was a struggle for her each day. I was able to be a friend and appreciated forever when I gave her one of my pedestals.
The rest of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and finally Alberta slowly crept underneath our tires. The show continued west with the relentless rhythm of up and down through the ever-changing terrain of this vast country with occasional pockets of humanity that became our quarry. Because of our regular routine, there is a zone that all the people on the show get completely immersed in. At the beginning of the season, the metal stakes are rusty, the side poles and seat planks are dusty, and the canvas is musty. Little nuance, like anti-lubrication, seemed to interfere with initial efforts. But with each set up, not only are brain synapses getting connected in virtually every mind with the completion of every task but motor skills merge with instinct to make each successive set up more efficient, approaching what qualifies as a marvel while momentum is established.
Much like being wired during a long drive, the entire psyche of the collective humanity maintains this momentum that only takes the slightest stimuli to alert the body to go forward again. Up early every day to drive to the next town compromises sleep, so a pattern of rest after set up meant a regular quiet time on the show was part of the pulse. We all got quiet in the afternoon prior to the matinee, that is if everything went well.
A long jump or the breakdown of a crucial element of the circus meant redirecting energy to overcome the obstacle first. Then resume the regular rhythm often at the expense of that valuable segment of sleep. Then, between these challenging episodes, during long stretches of the season, all went well. That was what we remember and cherish.
Beautiful weather occurred as we traversed picturesque terrain, arrived at a perfect grass lot, enjoyed a seamless set up. Each nourishing meal in the cookhouse made the showman happy. A good turnout for the afternoon and evening shows with enthusiastic audiences promoted the premise of the quest we were on. With their envy of what we do. They see us traveling, doing amazing things and poring forth enthusiasm in spite of what happens. This is the zone that feeds us. We experience something as a collective living entity that became real one day at a time. With each successive day going forward relentlessly turned into yet another season.
Teamwork is what it takes, yet a flaw existed in the hierarchy here. Typically, when the combined effort of all is perfect and something occurred to reveal the true nature of an individual personality that, up until now, had been wearing a mask. With this close-knit society, there are few secrets. The business partner of the Canadian owner of the show was difficult to read. Using a slick demeanor, he was able to manipulate, handle and fix most beefs that occurred on the lot and was clever enough to repair mechanical malfunctions on demand. Yet there was a reserved reluctance with anyone attempting to be his friend. He maintained a narcissistic obsession with something unseen by holding his cards close and away from everyone.
At the top of the stairs that led to my living quarters, I had created a small area filled with shelves for cigar boxes filled with fastening devices and a small work bench. Here I had my assortment for ongoing building projects. One day rounding the corner of my truck, I found him standing at the top of my stairs with my door open. His head inside and he was helping himself to some screws and bolts. This violation of what was mine was never followed with anything that qualified as cordial. In a silent disbelief I resigned to use caution around his questionable ethics from that point on. He would fortify my concern about his decency as I observed his treatment of others on the show.
My friends, the Michael family had a hiccup in their tour late in august. During the school year, Dennis and Lynnie are assembly program marionette puppeteers in the Chicago area, plus the girls had to be back in school. Near the end of the season, Dennis went to John Frazier to announce that in order to be back in Indiana in time for school they would be leaving prior to the end of the season. John fired them on the spot.
Prior to leaving, Dennis lent me his side show magic tricks and his supply of bird whistles so I could become the magician and sell whistles for the rest of the tour. Being that far west in Alberta with two weeks off turned into the vacation of a lifetime for the Michael family, who then enjoyed a vacation in Yellowstone National Park and a leisurely trip back to Indiana. I enjoyed being the magician in the side show and when the season was over, planned a visit in Indiana to return his magic stuff.
Late in our season, off in the distance the silhouette of rugged Mountains loomed ever closer. We performed in front of Alberta audiences near the foothills of the Rockies until we closed late summer. The plan was to winter the show equipment at a carnival winter quarters in Alberta and have everyone return in the spring to reverse course and troupe back to Ontario.
The Loadstar, originally intended to carry an eighteen-foot box, now supported twenty-four. I kept customizing the rig, adding features that gradually overloaded the truck. I still had a plan to add a horse that weighed 1250 lbs. to my repertoire. As the season came to a close, my plans for the rest of the year were full. Before heading back to Hugo, to become acquainted with my new horse, I had the plan to take riding lessons in Michigan.
At seasons end, the long trip east included driving through a blizzard that slowed my drive across Montana. By the time I made it to Wisconsin. the truck was running on five cylinders. I limped in to the International dealer in Janesville on a Sunday and put the ponies out on their lawn with the picket line.
Monday morning, I had the valve covers off the engine and saw several broken valve rockers. I went to the parts man inside and explained my predicament. I could only afford to buy the parts I needed and put them on myself. They had none of what I needed in stock but they did let me take some rockers off another engine in the shop to get me going.
What motivated their decision was the ponies eating their lawn. Once I was able to load up and head east, the first stop was to see the Michael family in Indiana. Then I headed to Michigan to visit Hayes and start my riding career.
That winter, while preparing to perform with my new horse act, I built my own magic props and planned to add a magical talking rubber chicken act to my side show repertoire for the upcoming season. There is always something else.
Normally, with a six-pony liberty act on a circus, handling getting in and out of the tent with its many backyard obstacles is facilitated with two assistants. Usually, two people leading two ponies each, help the trainer with his two, and safely handle this task. True to my self-sufficient nature, I figured out how to never need any assistance from anyone helping handle my pony act. I utilized the system of “come alongs” learned from Bob, which linked each pony to the preceding one. Using calm repetition, they learned to stay in a single file line and get through the many obstacles as I oversaw their effort. During the introductory announcement by Corky the ringmaster of Royal Bros Circus, we made our way inside the big top, and then into the ring. I would then have them stand at the back of the ring, unhook the “come alongs,” and start the act with all of them truly “at liberty.” Our act began at once. 
Gesturing “Lead off,” they would start to run around the ring. After several revolutions, the time came for a change of course or a complete reverse of direction for this single file line of yellow ponies within the ring. This involves my signal and a quick change of position in the ring, that blocked forward movement and encouraged them to come toward and then away from me. As the group threads their way around me, they run in this new direction for a while. After a few laps, I would have them reverse again and encourage them into being six abreast, or what is called the spoke of a wheel. This involves the lead pony at the outside perimeter cantering very fast and the tail pony near the center, next to me, walking very slowly. After the six abreast, it was time to single them out once again, and at the back of the ring, bring them to a halt.
Consistent behavior is what they understand best. The structural language of gesture, maintaining a calm emotional condition and consistent body language is key to maintaining healthy communication with a horse. With the repetition of two shows a day, they became comfortable responding correctly to my cues as I guided them. Among what I oversaw to insure harmony were influences of individual speed; slow one down or catch another one up. By far the most important movement to maintain is to have the ability for them to stop at the back of the ring and face me. All these responses are reinforced with consistent body language.
I had been reading some new age main stream spiritual literature by Carlos Castaneda and as the result was inspired to utilize positive mental imagery to influence the outcome of each performance with the ponies. Each day while standing in the backyard waiting for my time to go in, I would close my eyes and visualize the entire routine occurring flawlessly in my mind.
The first season touring with six ponies was not without challenges. Among the distractions around the Royal Bros Circus in Canada was when the sidewall was hoisted up on a hot day and the view of the spacious outdoors proved tempting to the filly, who became noted for jumping out of the ring. Since he had been trained to follow her, little Finley often joined her as she ran around the interior of the tent while the show as going on. My being a perfectionist with esteem issues, taking the behavior of a pony personally – as evidence of failure – wanting to provide only a flawless performance, had set me up for an endless source of frustration.
When a pony made a mistake, due to the dynamic of behavior, typically the same mistake would occur at the same place in the routine the next time the act was on. Rehearsing between shows was only partly good. The stock soon became wise to the fact that without an audience, they would have to comply or do an extended rehearsal. They became what is known as “crowd wise,” that meant I had to become an effective trainer during our act in front of the audience. As a hot headed teenager with an inferiority complex, I took any aspect of what the ponies did personally. Fortunately, as the season progressed, so did the ponies.
The original three ponies, with a season under their girth, were a steadfast influence to the three green ponies. Jumper was a new pony third in line. Due to the unwavering nature of the two in front of him, he became steadfast and consistent. Tex was the cut back pony moved from position three in the line up to number four. Tex was ideal in this role. The cut back is where the last three ponies reverse direction while the first three maintain their counterclockwise momentum. His long back, stout physique and somewhat simple mind had learned concisely what he was to do when asked that also coalesced into a do or die attitude. Whenever I asked for the cut back he was quick to comply. Once he had the concept he was unstoppable. After the cut back I would single them out once again. After another revolution, at the back of the ring, I would bring them to a halt.
While styling for applause in front of my standing group, the prop man would set the hurdle at the front of the ring. I had fashioned this hurdle using two pair of hames. Hames are a two-piece structure used with pulling harness that goes over each side of the horse collar that has the trace straps attached. I had found two fancy metal pairs with brass knobs on the top. They were welded crisscrossed for the hurdle jacks, with an opening on the ends for a 2X4 suspended between, that provided the bar for them to jump. When the hurdle was in the ring I would tell the standing ponies to “lead off” and as before in single file, they would all begin to run around the ring and go up to the hurdle and jump over, all except the tail pony. Finley appeared to be mischievously avoiding the hurdle although he had been trained that way. Another round and all the ponies would jump again… all except Finley, who by this time had captured the attention of the audience. My exaggerated gestures and feigned frustration at his defiance got a laugh. Finally, the third time around, I am shaking my finger at him and he finally makes the jump and gets a big hand. The fourth and final time the whole group goes over the hurdle and he gets away with avoiding it one last time to get a laugh. I line up and halt the group at the back of the ring, and then style, and take a bow.
Next, one by one, I ask them to begin to walk and turn away from me and go toward the ring curb. One at a time they mount the curb with their front feet. By carefully placing one foot over the other, they proceed to travel the entire perimeter walking around the entire ring, two fore feet on the curb, both back feet on the ground. Once they have traversed the entire circumference of the ring and are all poised at the back, still mounted on the curb, I take a style and get a big hand.
I next gesture for them to come off the curb and they single out at a brisk pace in contrast to the recently completed slow portion of the routine. Once again they are running around the ring. When conditions are right, I gesture for them to waltz, which is to turn 360° within their own length. Each pony has a different vantage point to observe my cue from. The lead pony is off my port side, the tail pony my starboard side and the rest are at various points in-between. As I gesture, which is a step forward and backward with a sweeping signal of the whips, each pony has a different reference angle to observe this body language that means something to him. Simultaneously they all do a turn in their own length. After several successful waltzes, I allow the first five to continue circling around the ring as I call the tail pony, Finley to join me in the center of the ring. He comes to me, and once at my side, I ask him to lay down, sit up and after the get up, ask him to bow. Once these specialties of his are complete, he resumes his position at the end of the rest, still running around the ring.
The conclusion of the act takes place as I halt the group at the back of the ring. Once they are all facing me, I ask for the rear. This cue has me first, making sure that I have their attention, and then sharply moving toward them with the command “hup.” Simultaneously they stood up, straight as a candle, and then came back down to the ground. I then turned toward the audience and ran to the front of the ring. The ponies were following right behind me, encouraged by a helper behind them. I leapt over the ring curb directly in front of the patrons in the front row and as I did, the ponies mounted the ring curb with their front feet. This was the final salute, an opportunity for the final bow in the midst of thunderous applause. I took my bow. Then the time came for me to re-attach my “come alongs” between each of them. Once intact, I would hold the lead pony, encourage the rest to back off of the curb, and the lead them single file through the center of the ring towards the exit of the tent.
A liberty act takes a couple of seasons of repetition before they work consistently. The summer of 1975 in Canada on the circus was the perfect place for this exposure and training to prepare me for my ambition of bigger and better circus opportunities in the future. That is, if nothing went wrong.
The circus awoke at dawn. That was a fascinating time to embrace the beauty of a new day as the trucks that carry the show are started. Then we began driving towards another destination in unfamiliar territory. I love to travel.
Imagine a fleet of colorful trucks and trailers with specialized cargo inching its way through the terrain changes that occur along the length of Texas. The fertile valley yielded to alkaline wastelands. Gentle rolling hills gradually became the beautiful lush farm country made special this time of year with bluebonnets and Indian paint brush tainting the fields of green with spots of blue and red.
Every hundred miles the country side changed. The observation of these differences gave this time of day part of its activity. Soon the show was amongst the tall cypress trees of bayou country and headed north into farm country.
It was the spring of the year as the show meandered from the south following the blossoming of spring flowers with the eventual destination being the perfect climate of the Midwest in the summer. From Texas into Arkansas the early morning wonders continued.
The roads took on rugged characteristics as we entered the Ozark Mountains. Hair pin turns and steep grades slowed our progress and provided ample opportunity to take in the sight of old growth woods, primitive dwellings and countryside such as I had never seen before.
One morning sets apart from the rest and made an indelible impression. The curvy roadway followed alongside a river bed. Erosion over eons had carved away the limestone leaving spectacular cliffs that hung out over the road. These cliffs overlooked other large stone formations with still water alongside making picturesque views that added magic to the morning.
Later that same year my mom and dad would discover this same countryside.
During the brief tour through the bayou country of the south on a big top circus, I discovered the challenge of going from a three-pony liberty act to a six-pony act. The difficulty increased far more than if this were a simple mathematical equation. The new ponies had an ever-changing environment filled with audible, emotional and visual distractions. My effectiveness as a trainer often became secondary in the mind of one of my charges.
Now I attempted to stay in contact with the group but when one renegade became turbulent, I discovered I hadn’t yet learned how to stay calm. Instead of the humility that would have served our bond, I entertained the idea of being a powerful, father knows best, with a strict stance that would dissolve instantly if Julie jumped out of the ring. I had created an immense amount of ongoing frustration as the perfectionist in me attempted to get this bigger group to accomplish the routine flawlessly, twice a day.
Late May, I headed to Canada to open once again in Ontario with the Royal Brothers Circus. On the way to Canada, I was able to visit Hayes, show off the rig and livestock and tell him about my next acquisition, a Manege horse for my second act. He then realized I would need to learn how to ride. He suggested that I return at the end of my Canadian tour to take riding lessons. He then called a friend who drove out to meet me.
Clarence Hastings had a background starting with the Cavalry and later with Hunt/Jump stables. Retired now and living nearby in Jackson, he would be happy to give me riding lessons next fall. When the time of reunion, encouragement and friendship was over, it was time to go into Canada.
Once again, Al Stencell met me at the port of entry and satisfied the customs and immigrations people. Then I followed him to the lot. All the preparations for another tour were underway. The big top was going up in the air and the equipment that had been in a storage barn all winter was unloaded and erected for the first time. I was elated to be reunited with my dear friends the Michael family who were here again with their acts. Lynnie and I had become pen pals. I had a friend in her whom I shared innermost thoughts, ideas and dreams for the future. She was a relentless source of encouragement and is an intensely creative person herself. We shared a special place co-creating as our correspondence continued. Now on the same show, we would consume gallons coffee and continue with the interwoven disclosure of our innermost imaginings.
Some of the other performing families and members of the crew were from the tour of two years ago. That familiarity proved to be fun. Upon arrival, I had plenty to do. The series of one day stands with two performances a day began immediately.
On the lot the next morning, with most of the fleet headed towards the next town, among those cleaning up the evidence of our presence was a rookie recruited to pick up manure. I was loading the ponies and dismantling my awning. Being one of the last to leave the lot each day meant that my passenger seat was the logical place to have this new guy ride to the next town. The boss made that suggestion.
My new shot-gun friend was Al Jones the Clown. Starting on his first day, he rode over the road with me each morning and almost the whole time we sang along with Elton John, Neil Young, Alvin Lee and other favorites on my 8-track tape player.
My runaway ego came to the surface as the result of being a star in front of the public. Seduced by applause, acceptance and approval that temporarily existed in the limelight seemed to be a remedy for the lingering esteem damage suffered as a child. Establishing a pattern of behavior that would characterize my method, I wanted more. I found the nightclub scene in Canada. In the excitement of the throbbing music and chemical induced laughter, I was often recognized, idolized and immediately accepted amongst the locals. Always eager to do it again, I often stopped downtown in the morning before getting to the lot to inquire if a band was playing at the hotel that night. The riotous lifestyle seemed to be an answer. Finding this place to fit in worked great at first, but as time mixed with the relentless pace of accomplishing all my roles on the show with this seething caldron, this solution would take a terrible toll.
The glorious tour started across the towns in Ontario I was already familiar with from the tour two years prior and then we went north and west across new territory. Ontario soon disappeared from sight in our rear-view mirrors. As the rhythm of the tents going up each morning and back down each night continued we entered new territory. So did the new sense of stronghold that summer in the northern latitudes has.
With each day the sun stays up longer, and soon teardown was taking place with only slightly waning sunshine. Although late, in these northern latitudes, the night sky often became a magical place. Starting with a slight smoky wisp on the horizon, a little luminescent animation somehow seemed out of place. This would often grow into a wandering and weaving, undulating phosphorescent essence in the darkening sky. If we were lucky, this display of rambling glow would grow to fill the sky and when the animated presence was directly overhead, one could see an inner detail within the wavy shape that had another pulse, mixation and luminous turbulence inside that seemed as hallucinogenic as nature had ever created.
This mixture of various colored lumens would throb and weave, boil and flow in ways that the connoisseur of cloud shapes imitating emotional personalities would envy. Standing in the darkness, looking straight up into this fascinating display of nature, I was totally consumed with awe. As I recollect that moment now, and seek to recall the thought activity taking place at that time, I find none.
Sometimes in the morning just for fun, I would have a different passenger on the trip over the road than my regular shot-gun Al the Clown. The kids on the show found out that I stopped along the way for coffee and a piece of pie or sometimes a banana split and would beg Al the Clown to trade places with them. As we passed through the small towns in the morning, I was on the lookout for an old-time drug store with a soda fountain. Those were the days of downtowns flourishing with mom and pop businesses. Small shops filled these communities. The employees of these stores were part of a family and reflected that with their interactions. They were concerned and curious, and often asked about why we were stopping through their little town. Al and I being proud of our roles with the circus would fill in the blanks on their questions while coming up with curve balls of our own. When we did find one of these interesting places and I found one of the stools along the counter and the waitress showed up, the fun would start that had been rehearsed during the many times that Al and I had stopped before.
“I’d like a banana split,” my banter began, “with the cherry on the bottom.”
This sort of request was sensible to me because I like to eat the cherry last. This sort of interaction would often bring about surprising results. One time, at the end of devouring my ice cream, I found three cherries at the bottom.
Letterfly Writes 