Letterfly Writes

       I weighed many options after discovering that my anticipated job on the circus didn’t exist. Last minute upheaval seems to be a constant part of this business. Ultimately, I would use this hiatus to my advantage. But at first I panicked. Beth and I had been planning to troupe together again. Her job existed so I had to make other plans. I did want to learn fine sign lettering skills, so after investigating many opportunities, I made my selection. Instead of going to the Great American Circus, my job in the spring of 1979 at the Sign King started immediately.
       This was a busy shop. Orlando had no sign regulations and clusters of gaudy advertising flanked all the roads. Real estate and building was booming and sign work was in evidence everywhere. This was a good time to be a sign maker. The Sign King was a sign store with many examples on display in the showroom in a shopping plaza. Consumers beat a path to the door. Forrest the owner, an effective businessman from Connecticut, wore a pleasant face up front and was gruff, precise and demanding in the back. His wife was the receptionist/secretary and had a curious, slow manner of talking, doubling the number of syllables in each word as her intentional manner of talking may have been influenced by a stroke. The work took place in the back. Several work bays were filled with easels for the lettering men, sawhorses and woodworking tools for the carpenters, screen printing tables and racks for the production runs and space for sign board painting preparation.
       In this environment, I started as the low man on the totem pole learning new skills. The other sign painters told me that a good sign man has at least five alphabets memorized that would handle most sign making situations. Many good font reference books existed. I began to get familiar with the variety of lettering styles and additional sign making skills from these men at the shop.

       The boss was always nagging us to hurry up. I was immune to his impatience. All I wanted to do was paint pretty letters all day. Being next to the other busy journeymen painting signs at the bench was the perfect placed to learn. These men who possessed the skill and knowledge of not only brush manipulation but letterform began to rocket me into the next dimension of my developing abilities. Some of them were fast and sloppy and others made better looking letters. I zeroed in on the men with a handle on what I wanted to learn and a personal style that I admired.
       Crisp letterform occurs with the right brush, trained by the way it is manipulated to maintain its chisel edge shape. By using the proper handling techniques, the natural tendencies of the brush influence the style of the letters formed. By starting each stroke with deliberate contact with the surface and traveling through the stroke consistently, additional natural behaviors of the brush bring about subtle variations that end up qualifying as an individual style of letter. I was making the big signs, with five inch and up letters. I began by drawing each letter in its entirety and then “building” the letter with brush strokes and paint. The journeymen were painting vast collections of small copy on menu, informative, rules and regulation signs using a “one stroke” alphabet, knocked out fast. As I admired what was going on around me, I was also noticing and being encouraged with the nuance that would eventually develop into my personal style and ability to letter in a new way.
       While I developed my individual fashion of block, script, casual “quick stroke,” serifed roman and modified old English, an additional opportunity for rapid growth occurred.
       One day, a new guy showed up at the shop. A tall guy with a confident air and a “Joisey” accent who soon became our supervisor. Gary Herpst had grown up in New Jersey, with a father who was an excellent sign painter and started this trade as a youth. Because of his background and ability, he was assigned to a role at the top of the shop hierarchy.
       Compared to the others, I was still struggling as I formed letters using my hand over hand technique with a lettering brush. This manner of painting took both of my hands as I would rest my lettering hand over my left hand. Plus, I had to use a little cart to hold my paint.

       One day Gary walked over to where I was working, still holding his lettering brush, with pallet and paint cup in the other hand, and gave me a command; “Start painting with one hand!”
       He then gave the half smile of a person containing a laugh and gestured for me to follow him to his work bench. He then demonstrated to me what he was talking about, using the brush with one hand with an extended pinkie finger to steady.
       “Learn to paint with one hand and you will become faster,” he encouraged me, “Plus, you can hold the paint and pallet with your other hand.”
       I attempted this style of painting immediately. Although awkward at first, I soon became comfortable painting this way. I credit Gary as being the most influential of all the sign men I ever met. Another thing he mentioned would influence my future.
       He asked me, “Do you know the difference between a common sign painter and an excellent one?”
       When I tumbled, he answered,” whether they drink or not”

Thank goodness our trip back to Florida was uneventful. Beth and I landed first at the circus winter quarters in Deland and parked near our old friends Captain Freddy Logan and his family. After getting settled, in an effort to make a good impression when asking for a job at a local sign shop I had my long hair cut off. I borrowed Beth’s station wagon and drove into town and found a local sign company and went inside. I showed the owner photos of my work and expressed an interest in learning more about the sign painting trade. I immediately landed a job at ArtDev Advertising. I had plenty to learn. 

I became part of a trio of men in the back of the shop that got the work done. Bill was the carpenter, Carroll the crane truck operator/installation man and I became the sign painter. All of our duties overlapped. I also learned how to use crane trucks and help with installation. 

Each day began to resemble a routine different from what I was used to. I was up early each morning. After my drive into work I spent the day at the shop accomplishing a variety of duties. The work mentality here revolved around providing a specific number of hours at the shop each day, instead of the timeless, all-consuming aspect of life at the circus. 

I found and bought an old tomato soup colored VW bus that became my commute to work vehicle. By Christmas time, Beth and I were encouraged to find an alternative place to park the trailer for the winter. A nearby fish camp near the river had trailer sites and room in the woods for Beth to put up her rigging and practice. Working close to where we lived was handy when Beth wanted to see what I was doing. One day the sixty-five-foot service ladder truck was up against a tall building downtown, Beth, the aerialist, climbed the ladder in her clogs, along with the rest of us, up to the roof to see the project underway. 

Among the sign making projects going on at ArtDev was the creation of large hand painted billboards that utilized the talents of a local retired pictorial painter named Pete. He arrived at the shop one day with his kit to tackle the waiting blank billboard.  

Once he got settled in, he came over to where I was working and looked down at my kit.  

“I know some shops that would not hire you,” He said flatly, “because of the condition of those brushes.” 

He was referring to my bristle fitches, the stiff brushes used to paint a rough surface like a brick or cement block wall. My fitches were rounded off from wear on all sides. Fortunately, Pete showed me his fitches and how a properly worn brush is supposed to look. He taught me how one corner was reserved from wear and also showed me the discipline of how to hold the brush for cutting in, like with a sash brush. Most painters know to use it flat either way in its entirety but when on edge for crisp lines and points, go one direction, reserving one corner for a sharp tip. Then, that corner is available for a precise point. By using this technique, the rounding wear only occurs on one side and the remaining corner stays sharp. 

The manner in which large pictorials were created in those days was referred to as wet-blended and included the use of oil colors that dried slowly. This would allow the artist a long window of opportunity to merge the colors.  While Pete was up on the catwalk painting large letters and images on the boards, he was always telling a story about his days as a pictorial man for a large outdoor advertising firm in Las Vegas. His wife would drop him off at the shop in the morning and before going home, she would grab a broom and sweep his work area clean. He would be talking the whole time.  

He told stories about painting large portraits of the famous stars appearing in concert at the various theaters in Vegas, often returning to the same billboard before the paint had even dried to paint another portrait on top. 

I still laugh every time I think about one story. One day Pete was up on the cat walk lettering five-foot letters with the name of a home builder – let’s say the name he was painting was James Robinson. That day Pete was telling a story about a sign painter he used to know. As he worked and shared this anecdote, his mind went blank as he struggled to remember his old friend’s name. As each letter assumed its finished condition from our vantage point in the shop we could see the large name revealed that I mentioned earlier. As Pete neared the last letter he paused, due to the revelation occurring. Out of the blue we heard him blurt out, “James!” 

“I just remembered his name,” he announced, “James Robinson “  

  Pete took me under his wing and taught me many things including the basics of scaling up from the comp, or composition sketch. He taught me how a sign man enlarges a design using math and a yard stick.  

The routine at the sign shop was far different from the around-the-clock routine on the traveling circus. I was only at the shop eight hours a day and every evening was free. Beth and I still continued our regular consumption of beer, and each evening I was expected to bring home a supply on my trip back from work. With little to do in the evening to keep my hands busy, the evening routine soon involved little more than beer and conversation. 

I had observed couples that had a relational style of arguing and had never understood it. I recall while lettering a circus trailer on Gopher’s circus years ago, listening in on the conversation between Snooks & Kennedy, who were taking a break from being the band between shows. Their relational style was an argumentative banter that had grown to fill their leisure time together. It sounded like arguing but they seemed to stay calm about it. I hadn’t grown up around such a style. Beth and I began to display a similar argumentative rhetoric fueled by our mutual inebriated condition.  I’m sure that a fly on the wall would wonder about our sanity due to the topic of those conversations. I admit that while driving home after working all day, my creative imagination would begin composing rebuttal from where our conversation had left off that morning. So I was certainly a player. I recognized that consumption was part of the problem but didn’t have an alternative to suggest. So, we continued our disruptive doggerel. 

Henry Thompson lived nearby in his travel trailer that winter too. The circus used him in the winter time to paint pictorials for the side show banners along with festive clown and animal images on the show trucks. As he drank more and more, he became filled with happy recollections that inspired an attempt at singing the lyrics of a popular song. As he belted out “only yooouuuu,” the stanza would inevitably be followed by drunken laughter. I would often find him and Beth laughing about this at the little tavern near the railroad station after my workday was done. 

Beth and I were counting on our jobs with the Great American Circus for the 1979 season that spring as promised by Jim Silverlake. But at the last minute, I was told they didn’t have room for me and my livestock. It was too late to find another circus, so I planned to remain in Florida to continue as an apprentice sign painter for that year while Beth went out on the road. A friend at a neighboring shop to ArtDev, who made dental bridges, had a neighbor who needed a roommate. I could live there. Beth found a pickup truck to pull her trailer and replace her station wagon. At the sign shop, I welded a trailer hitch on the back. I got her on her way and then paused at the brink of the year ahead to consider other opportunities to learn this trade.  

I began to do some research, expand my territory, visit other sign shops and ask questions. At a big outdoor advertising place, I saw where the Coppertone billboards were painted. The owner was confident about my emerging career and predicted that he would see me again.  

I worked a short time with a talented man creating visual masterpieces for the amusement parks and discovered the stereotypical alcoholic sign man. I heard about a busy shop near Orlando that had a grumpy owner with several journeymen lettering men inside at the bench. Curiosity piqued, I went to the sun-bleached metal building in a strip plaza, met Forrest Brown and his wife, and saw the work that was taking place. I made my decision. 

Due to the amount of work I was doing around the King Bros Circus as the drummer with two horse acts, I qualified to have the show provide a groom to help me. In the spring of the year, I was still trying to recruit this helper. As our path of one day stands crossed Georgia, a young black boy came looking for a job and I was ready to hire him. Once they caught wind of my plan, the mechanic Charlie Rex and the canvas boss came to me and told me not to hire him. They said that there would be no blacks on this show. I had never heard of such a thing. On all the other shows I was on, we always had them. Blacks are good luck. 

Historically, on the big canvas shows, groups of these workers came with a patriarch. They worked hard and kept to themselves. I recall on Clark and Walters Circus while showing through the deep south, we had a trio of them on the big top crew. They had an interesting pastime when their work was done and it was time to relax before bed. They would gather to unwind. One would play the harmonica and the others would sing their cultural genre of music. I was being introduced to an attractive facet of another ethnicity. 

Prejudice by the members of this show was perhaps an indication of the spiritual health of the circus or an ignorant defeatist condition that I hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps this was an omen. 

I recall hearing colorful stories from the old timers in the cookhouse about the jigs on the other shows in the old days. I am not on the quest of offending anyone here. I do seek to share this rich part of the history of the old-time circus for the sake of sharing their humor.  One tale had to do with how they exaggerated one another as tales were swapped.  

A classic came from the old railroad days when gangs of workers familiar with rival shows would seek to impress their peers with what they knew. Back and forth patter would start about a variety of topics. Among them; how the components they had to handle were heavy. Just set aside any question of ethics and visualize in your mind’s eye, a group of working men sitting in the canvas cookhouse after breakfast, finishing their coffee. 

“Wall, I nevah in all my born days seen so much heavy,” one would start off, “those poles is heavy, those planks is heavy, and those ring curbs is heavy” 

Oh you think these poles is heavy? Why I been on a show where evrah-thang is real heavy, a lot more heavy,” the orator is seeking to make an impression; “Evrah-thang on that Sells Floto show is heavy!” 

“That’s right,” another would agree, “Evrah-thang on that show is heavy” 

“I been on dat show too and evrah-thang is just plain heavy,” He says while holding his coffee cup aloft. Then he thinks of something else to fortify his claim, “even da coffee cups in the cookhouse weigh fo-teen pounds” 

Another good luck characteristic typical of the big top circus is gay clowns. The clown alley is notorious for flamboyant gay funsters. That year on King Bros Circus our clown alley was populated with hetero funsters – a married couple, an Indiana guy with a French persona and Rollo, a simple but straight energetic personality. We did have a gay organist, with an ironic name, Budd Manley. With a bass player and me at the drums, we were the trio that provided the music for the big three ring show. 

Circus families are another circus tradition. Generations duplicate teaching the children as toddlers to participate in the family act, not only adding the element of cute to the routine but imprinting the youngster with qualities that give them an edge with the closely guarded family secrets. Many outstanding trainers zealously guard their techniques. The families had strict rules that the young people had to stick to, especially when mixing with the other people on the show. Circus families wanted their children to marry into other circus families and discouraged any alternatives. 

The caste system was an old tradition with rules that kept the laborers, the dregs of society, away from the artistes. This system was relaxed on the smaller shows. On the King Bros Circus, we all had the privilege of getting to know one another.  

The Campa family provided a bevy of beautiful girls that added many acts to the show. Father Carlos did the traditional funny musical act. They were mom, dad, three girls and a boy. Elizabeth was a stunning beauty but reluctant socially. Sonya bubbled with personality and connected with others. The youngest sister was a fiery redhead. When strict met rebellious, the defiant sometimes left for the other side. These girls filled three rings as jugglers. Having this bounty of beauty added immensely to the show. 

  For our two-ring horse display, Frank Bumm had a white horse that did a few rodeo tricks in the other end of the tent while I provided a demonstration of what a Manege horse can do on Sir Bingo, the Painted Wonder. The demonstrations included marching, two tracks, the bow, pedestal mount, lay down, sit up, camel stretch and rear.   

Patti Antaleck had a huge group of performing dogs that jumped, danced, barked, cavorted and did an animated and pleasant act. Francesca had married a candy butcher (concession guy) and broke away from her performing family. She was one of the show girls doing aerial acts.  

Dirty Neck Klein was the elephant boss. He stayed busy with his two charges, helping set up the tent, performing in the show and pulling stakes at night. I kept a bottle of bourbon in my rig just for him, knowing that on cold, wet rainy nights, while he was busy with an elephant pulling everything off the muddy lot in inclement weather, he would appreciate an occasional swig. Whenever he did stop by to get a sip, was also the time he would demonstrate his appreciative Oklahoma stomp. 

The show moved at night.  As the second show each day concluded, all the components were dismantled and loaded. As soon as our contribution to the show was over, the horse and ponies were loaded, the awning came down, stakes were loosened and loaded, ramp and steps went inside and the doors were closed. By this time, Beth had loaded her wire rigging, rolled up her electric cable and was ready to go. We started up the rigs and followed the trial of tail lights that were also leaving the lot. 

The big top floated to the ground as the elephant emerged from underneath, pulling the last of the center poles. The workers quickly untied the ropes from the stakes and threw them on top of the canvas. The elephant began to go around the perimeter of the where the tent had previously stood and stopped to pull the stakes up one by one. The canvas crew folded the tent into a long bundle that the spool truck could then consume. As the last remnants were loaded, those trucks also began to head out to the next town. The mechanic was last. He followed the fleet to make sure everyone made it. 

  The last loads were also the first ones needed in the early morning. Depending on the length of the jump, the crew would get their sleep during increments throughout the day. 

Upon arrival in winter quarters, the circus personnel rallied around any remaining task prior to our opening that was only a few days away. With the main show gone there was plenty of room to put the ponies out on the picket line and simply turn Bingo loose. My old blue Fruehauf trailer still had the lettering “Bert’s Trophies” on both sides, so a crew showed up with rollers and gallons of white paint to handle the task of giving this giant trailer a fresh coat of paint. 

I was recruited to letter and decorate the concession trailer, ticket office and some other odds and ends amidst all the other last-minute tasks that were taking place. Two guys on the cookhouse crew volunteered to build a wooden pedestal for my horse act. To prevent the pony’s feet from slipping when they did the ring curb walk, traction on top of the ring curb was improved with a zig zag of light rope stapled to the top of each piece, another big task. Once I got this project started, willing volunteers took over to free me up for other responsibilities. 

Everyone was working together with a “show must go on” mentality, and a plethora of progress continued during those final days prior to the opening of our 1978 season.  

While working hard, we joked, “I can’t wait to get on the road, so I can get some rest.” 

This team work reminded me of what I had seen and admired with many circus couples. Of the qualities I admired on previous tours were the harmony of the people who worked, performed and lived together. Day in and day out these partners provided an example of not only healthy, loving regard but a professional work ethic that existed no matter what. Through the extremes brought on by inclement weather, unpredictable breakdowns, relational turbulence and surprise occurrences that stressed emotional stability, these couples stood together, placed aside any residual attitude that might interfere with harmony in the moment and stepped forward each and every day, into the limelight to use their talents together to please the assemblage in the seating.  

I had read a book in high school about a woman recruited to be a performing showgirl on the Ringling Bros, Barnum and Bailey Circus years ago, and how a single man from one of the large performing families pursued a love interest with her. I love you but the season’s over chronicled the typical selfish behavior that also occurs among the population of a big show. 

On the small Silverlake circuses, there weren’t any eligible single ladies. Because of that environment, the only girls I met were from the audience, making the pursuit of romance difficult. In the back of my mind, fortified by what I saw, I relished the idea of being part of a circus couple. I wanted to be part of two people who share their love for each other and traveled, performed, enjoyed leisure time and dreamt aspirations for building a future together. In the midst of all this industry in the King Bros winter quarters, I saw her. 

Beth was one of the performers. Her lovely frame was also involved in the many chores taking place. I would soon learn that she walked the tight wire in a three-ring display of wire walkers, went aloft on the aerial web, rode the elephant in the show and assisted the whip cracking guy with his act. 

My immediate thought as I saw her that first time from a distance was; “she needs a friend.” 

  I was able to say hello when our paths crossed and hoped my meek attempt made an impression.  

The caravan of trucks left winter quarters and threaded their way to the opening town. There, we were assigned our parking positions in the backyard. Beth chose to park next to me. Our glorious season began. The rhythm we adopted was not a mystery to us. Regular tasks were accomplished each day around the big top going up and down with the whistle blow to signal the start of another show. 

The Fruehauf trailer came with a blue and yellow canvas awning for horse housing. This went up every day. I lashed portable fence pieces to three of the side poles for the pony’s cross-tie area. From there they could look outside. Larger fence sections set up at the other end for a stall for Bingo. Behind the ponies, under the shade of the awning was the area Beth and I shared during the quiet time between shows for some rest and to enjoy an amber beverage. We called this place the pony tail lounge. As the season commenced, our lives and routines in the performance and the backyard became woven together into a dance of love.