Two Trips

The greatest risk taken daily is when we get behind the wheel. Many of the experiences on the highway made circus workers into safer drivers. Yet, there were many mishaps along the way with the variety of specialized vehicles coupled with their unusual cargo. The fleet on a circus included many truck and trailer configurations and each had their own peculiar handling and safety considerations that often were learned on the job. Aside from tearing the downspout off the side of the house with the family car, I had little time behind the wheel in the suburbs before I hit the road. That would change.

Going across the endless expanse of this country, the open road is where I feel at home behind the wheel. But getting there was not without mishaps. Gratefully, I am alive to tell you about these experiences.

At sixteen years old, I spent the summer playing drums in the circus band between my junior and senior years.  Each morning I rode shotgun in the truck that hauled the elephants, an old gasoline powered semi-truck with a multiple-speed standard stick-shift transmission.

I was content to experience those early mornings as a passenger, listening to the colorful stories of show business experiences that my host accumulated due to being born into this business.  I was taught trucker’s etiquette and other rules of the road.  I learned to go down a mountain grade in the same gear as you went up to utilize the compression of the engine to assist with braking, rather than taxing and overheating the conventional braking system. These and other skills were learned through observation during these early mornings with an experienced driver.

During that summer away from home, we played one-night stands in the mountains of Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia and the Carolinas.  By paying attention to the procedure for climbing and descending mountain grades, the drivers of the show trucks went painfully slow, but made it safely to each location.

One morning as I gulped down my coffee in preparation for a long ride to the next town, I learned one of the drivers had quit.  The manager was one driver short when he came to me.  I explained that I didn’t know how to shift the gears on a multiple-speed standard transmission. After additional deliberation the manager elected to put another kid in the truck with me. He wasn’t old enough to have a driver’s license but was familiar with the mechanics of shifting the manual transmission.  Although reluctant, soon I sat behind the biggest steering wheel I had ever seen in my life! The load was a cargo of wild animals, the side show tent and related equipment – all dependent on me to get them to the next town.

I was instructed to follow the elephant truck.  As we inched our way off the circus lot and onto the road, the younger kid did display a working knowledge of shifting gears and in no time, we were keeping up with the pachyderms. Entering some rugged inclines, we had to gear down to match the pace of the heavier vehicle we were following.  At a snail’s pace, there was plenty of time to see the sights.  As our altitude increased, the occasional gap in the trees that lined the road yielded breathtaking views of the Appalachian scenery.

When we reached the top of the mountain, the elephant truck pulled over to the side of the road.  As I waited, the driver walked back to give us instructions. 

“Leave it in low gear as we go down this grade” he said, “and when you see me start to go faster, just mash in the clutch and keep up.”

All went well going down that long curvy mountain road.  The compression of the engine held the rig in check so the descent was slow and safe.  When we entered the bottomlands, the elephant truck began to pull away. I did as instructed and mashed in the clutch.  We were freewheeling.  The jump to the next town now involved a faster rate of speed.  Soon we would be sitting in the cookhouse.  The road resembled a roller coaster. At one point I became concerned about our excessive speed. I let up on the clutch pedal that I had been holding to the floor, as per instructions: “mash in the clutch and keep up.”

My passenger noticed an unusual noise.  His expression of eyebrows up and down while looking around caused concern to arise in me.

“We had a blowout!” he exclaimed.

I looked for a place to pull over.  At a wide area on top of a hill, I parked the rig and he jumped out to look at the tires.  In a moment he got back in the cab of the truck. With no change in his facial expression he reported, “All of the tires are fine.”

I attempted to move the truck by shifting into first gear but the truck wouldn’t move.  I tried again, frantically retracing steps I had recently learned.  Mash the clutch pedal down and push the stick into first gear, then let it out slowly and give it some gas.  Although the engine ran, none of my efforts would make the truck move forward. I experimented.  I soon discovered I didn’t need to engage the clutch to get the truck into gear- any gear for that matter. The truck would not move.

My sidekick disappeared to flag down the next show vehicle driving by.  When the rig arrived, our situation was assessed. Since the kid was on a set up crew he was taken along to go to the next location to go to work. I was left alone on the side of the road with the disabled truck.

To find comfort in this awkward situation, I climbed up to the top of the rig and reclined on the roof over the wild animals. From there I could look back up the highway. I sought a glimpse of the mechanic’s big red truck pulling his house trailer. I had plenty of time to see the sights, study the trees and watch the birds in flight.  I waited for Ralph who would know what to do.

As each far-off sound grew into a recognizable tire roar, I strained to see if it was the mechanics rig.  Countless times, I heard a monotone crescendo that would raise my hope.  But a car would emerge from around that distant curve in the road, and I would melt back into my original position to wait for the next vehicle.

When the red nose of the tool truck finally rounded the bend, I immediately stood up on the roof of the broken-down rig and waved my arms frantically. Ralph the mechanic guided his rig to a stop behind the cage truck.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, Ralph,” I offered, “but I can get it to go in any gear without using the clutch.”

Ralph first looked into the cab of the truck to familiarize himself with this symptom. As he manipulated the stick shift his facial expression changed and he gave me a menacing look.  He then got out and looked under the truck at the transmission.  Recognizing the culprit, his diagnosis was swift and silent. 

He offered, “Wait here, I’ll have to double back with another truck to tow this in.”

Frustrated and alone, I watched Ralph’s rig inch away and disappear over the distant hill.

Once again, I had plenty of time on my hands.  I climbed back onto the roof of the cages and sat there.  Ralph would get his rig to the next town and unhook one of the other circus trucks to double back. Doubling back consumed lots of time.  Of those remaining miles ahead of this disabled rig, Ralph would have to travel them three times.  I waited.  I missed the hot breakfast at the cookhouse and would be unpopular with the side show crew who needed this equipment before their tent could go up.  The animals on board would be hot and hungry too.  The plywood doors that covered the cage bars wouldn’t be removed until the rig arrived at our destination.  Then the animals would receive their food and water.  They waited in the dark, on the side of the road, just like me.

My usual exuberance eroded further as I sought to understand what had happened with the truck. The minutes blended into the height of day until Ralph’s return jostled me from slumber.

Ralph wasn’t at all happy. When a fleet makes one day stands, the mechanic, out of necessity, must stay with the broken-down vehicle non-stop until it is fixed so as to not interrupt the momentum of the caravan.  Ralph would stay up all night working on this truck if necessary to have it ready for the jump in the morning.

He had brought along another driver to steer the broken truck as it was towed behind the bobtail semi-tractor. Harold the elephant man had a grin on his face. I was no longer needed.

As I slipped into a blend of grief, guilt and shame, I tried to understand what I did. After all, I had followed the instructions that I had been given. 

I recalled Melvin’s instructions,” Leave it in first gear and follow me down the mountain, when you see me pull out, mash the clutch in and keep up.”

So that’s what I had done. Exactly.

When we arrived at the circus lot, all the tents were erected and everything was ready for the afternoon show.  I began to carry my black fiber drum cases into the eerie silence of the Big top and hoist them onto the bandstand.  As everybody got their much-needed rest, I set up my drum kit.  I lifted each drum from its protective case and clamped it into position. I reviewed once more the truck instruction scenario: “Leave it in first gear…”

When the last wing nut secured the final cymbal, all that was left was for me to arrange my sticks. As activities on the midway began to stir, I was hungry having missed all the meals. I would make a meal out of a box of popcorn.

Soon the hub-bub of ballyhoo began. The gathering crowd became the reason why we are here. The audience filed into the tent and the seats began to fill. A whistle blew. This was the start of yet another show. I settled into drumming. I provide the heartbeat and punctuation for the performers. At last, comfort returned. 

I made my contribution to the show my very best. Drumming adds a lot to the live show of the circus and drums provide the heartbeat and sets the pace that audience and performer rely upon. My job was to creatively emphasize key portions of the acts to create moods, heighten audience awareness and to accent achievements. My responsibility was to make the show even more lively and entertaining.

As the drummer, I add new heights, create suspense, and call attention to the subtler aspects of each performer’s routine. As they take their bow and style for the audience, the riffs created just for them increase the response they receive. When I was successful, the audience had more to appreciate and the performer received a bigger applause. Later, at the cookhouse the performers would mention their appreciation to me.  As a drummer I was constantly creative, experimenting with countless fills, licks and rhythmic combinations of sounds available from a set of drums.  Never bored, my aspiration was to be one of the best in the business. And with that, another show came to an exciting conclusion. Finally, it was time to go to the cookhouse. 

The portable tables found everyone fussing about the broke down side show truck. I felt alone as I stood in line for my food. Still very much the rookie, I didn’t understand what it was that I did that caused the truck to breakdown.  While I ate, the mechanic entered the cookhouse tent. Ralph had grease all over him that provided contrast to his white gap tooth smile. He also had a foreign looking disc in pieces, in his hand. He sought me out recognizing an opportunity to make the entire crew laugh.

“Drummer boy,” He said good-naturedly but sternly in front of everyone, “you made two trips in one: your first and your last!”