letterflywrites

July 3, 2026

Getting Ready

Although initially I started as a drummer for the circus, using my skills with a paint brush occurred even before the first time I played the drums, perhaps revealing the inevitability of this career path. This was further propelled when, after the wreck of my liberty act pony truck, I lost the means to stay with the circus and began to paint as my primary role.

The next summer, I discovered a huge market for hand painted sign and artwork on the fairgrounds. This provided the funds needed to re-equipped myself to resume performing with my six-pony liberty and horse acts. While painting the fleet of Clyde Beatty-Cole Bros Circus in winter quarters, I secured a position performing on the King Brothers Circus, one of three Acme Circus Corporation shows, for the season of 1978. The King Bros Circus had all the admirable features of a medium sized big top circus. I had seen this circus in the past, met most of the personnel, and compared to the hillbilly operations I was used to, from the positive impression received, this first-class circus became a logical goal. When the fleet of the Clyde Beatty Cole Bros Circus was finally complete late winter of 1977/78, I made the trip to Arkansas to begin re-equipping myself to perform.

By this time my parents had purchased a five-acre plot of land in the Ozarks to build a house upon. Part of their motive with this property was to also have room for my animals. With my six-pony liberty act, I had created a wonderful career with a promising future. Now, the startup hurdle was over and the animals were seasoned performers. The package was perfect in many ways. The magnitude of work to get to this place had been rewarding and the multitude of experiences helped me in other ways especially in the relational arena. Now the business of having this batch of ponies as an act settled into finding opportunities, performing on a regular basis and the ongoing maintenance on the road.

Another aspect that made this 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 sign painting 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. The ploy worked. I had the funds needed. Now the time was here to get re-equipped.

My dad joined in my quest and helped me find and buy an old single-axle semi-tractor. When we found one we liked, being a shrewd negotiator, he provided them with a list of what the truck needed in order for us to be able to buy it for that price. When the truck received all the things that my dad insisted be fixed or added, we also discovered they put a new front bumper on it with yellow fog lights. This was a cab-over, the style the manufacturers came up with to allow for a longer load. By putting the driver over the engine, the overall length of the cab was shortened. This one had a bunk too. The cab was both white in color and the manufacturers name was White.

It had what the truckers called the screaming’ meanie Detroit engine, a ten-speed transmission and two large fuel tanks. I had to learn how to operate and maintain this piece of equipment and the men at the shop were very helpful. I learned how to tilt the cab, so I could then walk up to the motor. But I was warned to make sure everything loose in the cab was secure or else something could go through the windshield. I became familiar with all I needed to know on this, my first diesel. When we were about to go, I received some final advice from the men at the truck repair place.

“If it ever sounds terrible, like it is just about to fling itself apart,” I was warned with a sideways smile, “just keep driving it.”

While interacting at that truck dealership, I saw a sign painter lettering a truck. I went over and took the time to watch as he put letters on the door with a curious little brush in a casual, effective way. Soon after he noticed I was watching, some friendly rapport began.

“Watch this,” he began, and then added a sinister twist, “they said it couldn’t be done.”

I watched for something amazing. He loaded his brush with paint, carefully paletting it before bringing it back into the proximity of the truck door.

“I invented a new way to letter,” his brush touched the bottom guide line and went up, making one stroke of the next letter.

“I call this the upstroke,” he revealed while I observed his special technique.

This fortified that there was much more for me to learn in this fascinating field.

The old Fruehauf moving van that a horseman with draft horses had for sale came with an awning, ramp and living quarters. Once the truck place made all the improvements my dad insisted upon, we were ready to go on an adventure in the old truck to retrieve the trailer in Wisconsin.

I know how to travel light. But my dad insisted on bringing far more stuff that was necessary for a whirl-wind trip. He had a bed roll, pillows, his dop-kit, luggage with clean clothes inside and extra jackets. In order to climb into the bunk, he had to move all of that stuff out and onto the passenger seat first. He and his stuff took up more than half the room. I would be confined to the driver’s seat the whole time. Superdog stayed with mom this trip. Once the trip started, we drove day and night to get there.

While driving, I became familiar with the shift sequence of five speeds and then click a button and repeat the shift pattern for the next five. My dad wanted to drive too but had a few problems with the complicated shift pattern so I did most of the driving.

When we arrived at the horse farm in Wisconsin, we spied the trailer right off. At one time it was a moving van. The front was round in the modern streamline style that was popular and state-of-the-art in nineteen fifty-five. The side had two double doors on the main floor, one with a loading ramp for the horses that cradled underneath, and an added RV entry door up over the hitch. The rear of the trailer opened up completely with double doors on the back.

The interior had formed tie cleats in the vertical ribs to secure any load and light plywood mounted between to make flat walls. The only obstacle on the flat wooden floor was the square wheel boxes over the rear axle covering the dual tires.

Bert was a pleasant man. Plump and hearty as a fine example of a healthy dairy man. His draft horse team was both an advertising expense for his trophy business and was also a hobby. While my dad engaged in satisfying his curiosity about the many aspects of his vast farm, I conducted an inspection.

The unit did not have much exterior damage due to rust, as some of these old trailers sometimes have. My dad and I agreed that this piece of equipment would work nicely for my purpose.

Soon after hooking on to it and discovering that everything worked, we headed out. The plan was to stop by St Louis to see my sister’s family and break up the jump. While pulling the Fruehauf, my mind began percolating on how I was going to rack the interior and what materials I would need. Arriving in St Louis, we spied a salvage building material place and purchased plywood, planks, conduit, 2×4’s, tanks, a shower stall, barrels, etc. to rack the interior and establish the infrastructure. While parking in a neighborhood close to where we could visit family late on a Friday, we saw something else compelling.

We found a pleasant shop in an old store front with “Signs “on the façade, where signs were being hand lettered inside. Intrigued with the caliber of the gilded work on the large plate glass windows, we went inside.

My dad is naturally both inquisitive and curious about most everything. The owner took time to answer all his questions. I made a visual assessment of the physical layout and characteristics of this business, with special interest in what was used for handling the projects going on. An employee was at the painting easel finishing up a gorgeous sign. This provided me with an opportunity to watch his technique. When finished, he took his kit, said good night to the boss and left. As the conversation between my dad and the shop owner continued, we learned about snapping.

Although a paid employee, during weekends his painter would secure work in the neighborhood and put the money in his pocket. This is an ethical gray area because of the competition factor. This behavior is referred to as snapping because the itinerate sign painter snapped his straight guide lines with a length of string and a piece of chalk.

My dad had obviously taken an interest in my vocation and was encouraging me. Each situation to observe others at work in this industry revealed tid-bits of information and remained an ongoing focus for my ambition. He then asked the owner about his recommendation for my aspiration to become a sign painter. His advice was clear and simple. The best way to learn was to get a job working under someone who could teach the skills. There were several kinds of sign men, ranging from the billboard and pictorial men to the creators of fine gilded work on glass. They were considered the epitome of the tradesmen. With his encouragement, I had a goal, but for now it would have to wait.

Back at my parent’s new place, I got busy unloading the materials. I began building what I had envisioned, getting this trailer ready to haul all the aspects of the pony and horse acts, and to work out of and live in.

A bulkhead already existed between where the horses stood and the step up to the living quarters over the fifth wheel hitch. I would not need all this floor space so I installed an elevated shower stall even with the floor of the living quarters. Underneath was ample room for the stakes and poles for the awning. I placed two fifty-five-gallon drums side by side for water storage and welded a hose fixture at the base of each for a gravity feed outlet. I lashed an old tank from a water heater in the upper corner of the wall against the roof as a reservoir for a gravity feed shower. To get the water up there, I used a hand operated drum pump in one of the water drums.

With the high ceiling inside, I had the room to make a huge shelf for hay storage over where the ponies would stand. Between the wheel boxes in the rear, I built a box stall to back the horse into and a bulkhead to separate the rear section for additional storage and a bunk that went the entire width for my groom. I still had the steel steps from the previous truck and by making a small stand for the base of one, had access to the living quarters door over the hitch. The curved front of the trailer provided a challenge for making my bunk conform to that graceful shape. Careful cutting resulted in a piece of plywood that conformed to the interior wall. Underneath, I fashioned a desk and wardrobe closet.

Racking the interior and getting equipped was handled quickly well in advance of the time to open on King Bros Circus. When the improvements were complete, I was ready to load out and begin my trip to Florida. I thanked my friends at Shiloh for the use of their farm for the previous year and bid my parents adieu. With everything loaded I began the trip.

This was the first time entering the sunshine state with livestock. I didn’t know about the requirement for health papers to enter Florida. I was turned around at the agricultural inspection site to go get the proper paperwork prior to entering. I went to a veterinarian’s office near a stock yard, the tests were performed and I was again, on my way.

At that stop was the first time I fed them in the trailer. I put the feed bags on the ponies and suspended a feed tub in front of Bingo. In order for him to eat out of the tub, I dropped one of the cross-ties. During warm weather, I traveled with the side door open. As I prepared to get back on the highway, fortunately I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Bingo trotting alongside the open door of the trailer. Without the cross-tie to prevent his movement, he had the ability to jump out of the trailer. Because the outside check was still fastened, even though he was on the ground outside, he was still tied to the rig. I am so grateful to have looked at the moment I did. I don’t even want to think about what could have happened if I had driven away not knowing.

May 28, 2026

Re-equipping Myself

I now had enough money saved to resume my performing career. First, I had to replace the needed rolling stock. I had a lead on an old Fruehauf moving van that was for sale. With this trailer I could load the six-pony liberty act and my Manege horse inside and hit the road. I would have to hurry to make the preparations needed in order to return in time to assume my job as an entertainer on the soon to open King Bros. Circus. I had plenty to do. So, I bid adieu to Billy, Edna and the others. They would be long gone and on the road with this freshly painted major circus by the time I returned to open with King Bros Circus.

As I maneuvered my beloved bus out through the entrance gates for the final time and headed north, reflection began in regard to making this career move. Soon the majestic oak trees with Spanish moss gently swaying from the boughs disappeared and tall pine trees hovering over bare red earth lined with needles flanked a highway that imitated a roller coaster as I traversed Alabama. I thought about my decision to leave home during high school and join the circus. Then the climb to the top in that industry was interrupted by mishap. An attempt to continue in a rudimentary position did not provide a place for my creativity to flourish. So, I turned my back on show business and made the decision to pursue an unknown. I began to paint signs

I found freedom and circumstance in this new trade that provided experiences and challenges all along the way. The artistic venture facilitated unstoppable growth as an endless stream of painted visual delights were created for the steady stream of customers that requested my work. I had found my future and I was encouraged, yet my role as a performer with horses was not yet over. Now was the time to resume this vocation and thanks to this trade, I had found the means to do so.

A long flat highway with regular heaves in the seams of the concrete roadbed made crossing southern Arkansas very rhythmic. I looked forward to going home. My dad would want to hear the stories about the adventures and would certainly display amazement at the level of skill I had developed.

As the trek entered the northwest corner of the state, the roads took on a very different look from any I had been on all summer. Long grades alongside sheer drop offs afforded breathtaking scenery. Hairpin turns and curvy roads took me up and down through the same spectacular Ozark countryside that impressed me a few years prior.

The excitement of last few miles of the trip imitated a building emotional crescendo. The ticker tape parade that New York threw for world class adventurer Charles Lindbergh seemed puny in comparison to the welcome I received from my Mom and Dad when I arrived where they were staying in Sulphur Springs.

My bus would now get some rest. I had a plan to acquire and outfit a moving van to carry the horse acts and hit the road once again. The VW with its collection of hand painted artwork, although now on the quest of collecting dust, would remain an art gallery and a testimony of the years adventure, waiting for the time I would return and once again resume another challenge of adventure, seek the promise of an unknown future and propel the magic bus and myself unstoppably forward.

May 8, 2026

The Circus Artist

The affluent nature of my South Florida suburban surroundings evaporated as I entered central Florida. I motored through great oak hammocks, old cracker homes and gentle rolling hills. The circus winter quarters had a different energy when I returned, starting when we pulled through the gate. Billy was on the job, standing in front of the office truck with his trademark bottle of coke, all duded up in a suit and a tie. Edna Antes was inside at her desk attending to the many duties that surround running a show of this size.

Superdog knew he was home and could hardly contain his excitement as I opened the door and he leapt outside. The main barn had one of the long flatbed trailers inside without its load and workers were giving it a fresh coat of red paint. Far from adept, the mismatched crew were more dabblers than painters. I then realized how the spillage on the floor, noticed during my previous visit, had been created.

Once parked, I had an opportunity to see industry taking place in all the departments across the grounds. I met with the busy manager and he showed me the various projects underway. John Pugh filled me in on how I would get the monumental task of decorating the fleet accomplished. I could have as many of his men to help with the painting of each truck and trailer as I wanted. We could move each unit into the main barn to work on except the office, which had to remain out front with the phone line intact.

The first line of business was to get acquainted with the crew, assess what was available and tune up the painters coating the trailers to use slightly thinned red paint, so that the lettering underneath would remain visible. By teaching a couple of good-natured, wiry and animated men the finer aspects of covering large areas with roller and paint, a steady stream of freshly painted, ready to letter trailers began to emerge.

Next, I selected two clever guys to wield two-inch brushes to fill-in the large yellow letters that spanned the length of each trailer. Some artistic talent existed in another couple of guys, and with their help, we began to create the painted blue shadows that add visual impact to these large lettering jobs. I would follow behind all this double coating and hand paint a half inch black line around the large letters to hide the ragged edges and give them a finishing touch.

Once enrolled, the men with all this hard work began. I was freed up to create unit numbers and large interesting images, flourishes and outlining the completed letters. A half inch black line around the other men’s work not only cleaned up the ragged edges but it gave it some punch.

Although each semi had a masthead show name consistent with the rest of the fleet, the flourishes I designed were individual. I put a quartet of band instruments surrounding the unit number on the musician’s sleeper. Little elephant heads appeared in the top corners of the bull trailers. Art Noveau Fluor d’leis, jungle foliage, bamboo borders, funny hats, lightning bolts, confections of all kinds and images of tickets all served to add interest to the variety of loads in the large fleet.

The weeks went by fast. In an effort to keep the crew moving and create my painted imagery, the trail I blazed through winter quarters each day with yardstick, rolled up paper patterns, my variety of colored paints and brushes made Superdog’s daily rounds wax pale in comparison.

The weather cooperated nicely with working outdoors that winter. We worked on them where they were parked instead of having to pull them through the large main barn in order to stay inside and dry. Having many of the semi-trailers in various stages of completion all around the grounds facilitated rapid progress.

Towards the end of the project, the remaining major masterpiece to undertake was perhaps the most important. That was the office.

Torrential weather began and required that this truck be moved into the main barn out of the rain, compromising the rigid original request to not move this unit under any circumstances. The marketing department was populated with the usual nimrods who had become design experts. They came up with an image for me to recreate on the office. Although the logo had, in my opinion, some design flaws, they insisted it be recreated as per their example.

When this final project was complete, the monumental task of lettering and decorating a forty-unit fleet finally came to a close. Prior to leaving, I was asked to go once more to the complete office. Edna had a message for me.

She told me that Mister McKlosky, the owner of the three circuses said; “go ahead and paint the other two shows” (King Bros. Circus and Sells and Gray Circus)

I responded, “I had to go.”

April 15, 2026

The Birth of A Name

Superdog and I concluded our exploration of this wonderful yet mysterious place and set our sights toward other locations that offered adventure and the opportunity to earn a living painting signs. I had a small footlocker with some interesting items stored inside. Among them were some antique railroad lanterns with colored glass lenses that Hayes has given me. To lighten my load, I wanted to leave this stuff here at winter quarters until spring. Then, I had more room inside the bus for comfortable living.

In the center of the winter quarters was a low structure with a corrugated metal awning on both sides with a few bunks inside for the working men. The Ponderosa had a mysterious energy, although only lightly used during the dormant winter. I placed my trunk in an out of the way place along one of the porch roofs for safekeeping. My plan was when I returned to paint the fleet, I would retrieve my belongings.

My love for horses influenced the selection of territory in which to make a living. I aimed the bus at an affluent area of South Florida, a mecca of horsemanship, for my quarry that winter. My concessionaire contacts from the Michigan carnival lived in Boca Raton and wanted some painting on their motorcycle. After saying goodbye to Billy and promising to return when the circus was ready to decorate, Superdog and I jumped into the bus and headed down the road. It was Christmas time.

The miles began among agricultural symmetry, morphing into urban sprawl and gradually became a vast rangeland dotted with puffs of palmetto thicket. South Florida provided a labyrinth of highways with a highly concentrated population. The destination proved to be a wealthy area with an abundance of Christmas lights that seemed out of place without snow.

I found Jack & Sid, decorated their motorcycle with a cowboy sitting by a campfire in the desert and was treated to an evening of fun at their favorite bar. With the help of my hosts, I then received an interesting lead that took me to the Polo Center of Boca.

On the outskirts of designer neighborhoods with terra cotta tiled roofs, geometric shaped windows and driveways with shiny status symbols parked in the midst of sculpted and landscaped terrain lay a large area with several specially manicured grassy playing fields. Thundering horses with aggressive riders competed for the thrill of the chase and elusive victory. Most of the time this place was dominated by mundane routine that accompanied taking care of horses, tack and lawn. I then met the boss. My skills were needed at the large scoreboard and the box seats in the grandstand.

As the tedious process of rendering names filled my day, there was ample time to mix with the riders to quiz them about their unusual vocation. As they described the dangers and the frustration of interacting with other men on horses and the penalties of not adhering to strict protocol, they saw the lengthening of my face and the quizzical expression followed by wondering why any of this could possibly be worth it. I then received an explanation.

“There is nothing in the world that compares to the brief moment, by chance, of actually being in front of all the horses on the field, going hell-bent for leather while on-line with the ball,” my polo playing friend explained.

“Closing in rapidly toward the target with fresh adrenaline coursing through my veins and at just the right moment I swing the mallet with everything I’ve got,” he continued, “I hit the ball and then watch it sail downfield and go through the goal as the crowd goes wild.”

“That,” my good-natured friend explained to me, “is what makes it all worthwhile.”

It was early one morning at the polo grounds that I came up with my new moniker. True, “Krazee Davee” was emblazoned across both sides of the bus, but during my travels, I had met several other crazy Dave’s. This prompted an awareness for the need of a new brush name. I had been born with a name that nobody could remember, spell or pronounce. Frustration with the difficulties of my real name in school made the creation of something simple with animation a priority. A dividend would be a hidden meaning.

Out of the blue, one uneventful morning, came the inspiration; “Letterfly!” I immediately liked it. The hidden meaning would imply not only proficiency with lettering but also hint at ready to go and imitate the slang Let ‘ER fly used by the horsemen. My new name was everything my German name was not. It was easy to say, remember and spell.

I began to think of images to use with my new name for a logo. I recalled my childhood hobby of insect collecting with butterfly raising. My first artistic attempt incorporated butterfly wings flanking a woman’s body with an artist hidden in the design. He was at work painting away. These early attempts with the butterfly never really worked, so I kept searching for the right image.

My stay at the polo grounds was certainly interesting and productive but beyond the box seating and the scoreboard there was very little sign work to do. One of the horsemen told me to go north to the West Palm Trotting Center. This was the wintertime headquarters for horses and horsemen of a different genre. They could surely use my skills on their variety of equipment.

The drive to this new destination through the concentrated suburbs was brief. Luxury and opulence was in evidence the whole way. The trotting center was an even more sophisticated horse facility with neat rows of barns, spaciousness and several large oval tracks where the daily training took place. Young horses were started here to prepare them for a career pulling a bike or two-wheel cart at any number of trotting tracks across the country and Canada. Other horses were recuperating and undergoing therapy so at some point their career could resume.

The bikes were painted with stable colors, the color scheme that was on all their equipment even the driver’s silk uniform. The nicer bikes had pinstripes that ran along the length of the shafts and the occasional track mishap or close call would scuff a little of this paint off. This is where Letterfly the sign painting guy fit right in. Not only would I letter the stable name on their tack trunks, truck doors and director’s chairs, but I could repair the damaged paintwork on these bikes.

Back at Hayes, I had fashioned a fold up drawing table that neatly tucked away in the bus. Now at the trotting center with plenty of lettering to do, I set up shop under an overhanging roof of one of the stable barns. The bus was parked under the comfort of a shady tree nearby, and in the midst of the ongoing pace of daily activity, Superdog and Letterfly thrived.

At night all was quiet. With no lights on any of the barns the only illumination came from the billions of stars that commanded the skies. The darkness provided a comfortable place to contemplate the vastness of God’s splendor, dream up creative solutions for the steady stream of artistic requests that came each day and unwind with Superdog, prior to bedtime.

It was on one such peaceful and quiet night that an exciting occurrence took place. I heard the thundering of horse’s hooves dominate the darkness. My heart quickened, my first thought was to get out of the way but in the darkness, I was unable to see where the loose horse was. So how could a collision be avoided?

Evidently a young horse with a daily regimen that made him strong, fast and restless had managed to get out of his stall. Now he enjoyed freedom and expressed his joy the best way a horse knew how and that was to RUN! “To fly without wings” best describes what this majestic beast is made for.

While I sat in the darkness not knowing where the wild horse was going to go next, I was inspired. I realized how appropriate honoring the horse was to me. I knew to redesign the logo for my new name Letterfly.

Horses are a big part of my life. The image of a horse would best exemplify all that, as an artist, I stand for. Including this image validated my love for the horse and when I added wings to support the fly. My design began to work.

Several versions later I had what I wanted. The new image successfully communicated the scope of my interests, suggested proficiency and was a concept of what I stood for. Also implied was that my service provides propulsion for my clients to rocket forward. This is how Pegasus was adopted and remains the icon that best describes Letterfly the artist/horseman/entertainer.

My time at the trotting center remained productive through the winter months until finally, the time came to return to the circus winter quarters and begin my role as decorator of the fleet. I bid farewell to my many horsy friends and headed north.

April 7, 2026

Circus Winter Quarters

While driving south through Georgia, I noticed palm trees dotting the landscape as we neared the sunshine state. The terrain had a unique look. In spite of the frequency of rain, the green of the foliage had a faded look the result of relentless sunshine. The highway billboards became frequent. Ads attempted to lure the viewer with promises of mermaids, sunshiny beaches and water wonderlands along with sophisticated destinations for golf, amusements and sunbathing. My favorite billboard ads were for the Coppertone products. A reclining bikini clad beauty provided the focal point and was very effective at capturing attention and prompting my imagination.

My destination was Deland to respond to the request to decorate the entire fleet of the Clyde Beatty-Cole Brothers Circus while they were in winter quarters. I studied a map and found a route that went through a great forest. Florida wilderness is unlike other places. A unique charm exists as palmetto thickets in the midst of tall pine and oak trees thrive to provide a home for wildlife. Graceful birds and fleet footed lizards in abundance gave animation to the serene tropical forest.

As the trip progressed, directional arrows for the fleet started to appear on the posts of the roadside signs. I then realized my destination would be very easy to find. I would simply follow the arrows.

As I neared Deland, the arrows led me to an interesting show business mecca. Outside of town, near the railroad station were the old fairgrounds that now served as the winter quarters for the three circuses owned and operated by the Acme Circus Corporation.

Arriving at this location brought my experience with this show full circle. The annual visit of the Clyde Beatty Cole Bros. Circus during my childhood was like a holiday/festival/adventure all rolled into one. As I neared this special place, I spied the tall chain link fence that surrounded the place. I went through the gates in front. Palm trees lined the roads inside. Bright yet well-worn circus trucks were parked haphazardly, as if abandoned in a hurry. Only a few people stirred, and none were in any special hurry.

Superdog was anxious to get outside. The sight of the fleet meant he was at home. His life on a show was the only life he knew. As we rounded the driveway and maneuvered towards the travel trailer parking area, he became noticeably animated. Barely coming to a stop, the moment I opened the door, a white fluffy blur shot over my lap and went out the door.

His self-appointed job was to check out each new neighborhood. If you could take the course he took on these jaunts and straighten it out, the length would easily reach from here to the moon. Superdog had wisdom learned from being on many different shows for every year of his life. Now he carefully assessed the layout of this place, frequently looking back for me while determining his options. This dog was the perfect match for someone with an appetite for adventure.

Superdog was the only pup in his litter not currently in a dog act. All of his sisters earned their living sitting on pedestals and jumping through hoops. And his sister Fluffy even jumped off the high ladder into the arms of her trainer. Superdog was born to blaze a trail, seek distant horizons and make friends all along the way. His smiling face caused most people to melt. Many times, as I searched, wondering where he was, I would find him smiling in the midst of a group of girls petting and adoring him.

I would exclaim “there you are,” but inside I was secretly saying, “I’m proud of you.”

Here in the circus winter quarters he was in his element. He checked out the row of travel trailers ignoring the harmless yapping dogs. He appealed to the animal lovers that attracted him. Relentlessly he inspected this new home and disappeared around the corner of a barn on his quest to become familiar with every aspect of his new surroundings.

This was a mysterious place that the circus-loving public didn’t see. Gone were the musicians, performers, the sparkling costumes and the hoopla. No flags were waving or lights flashing. Other than the exotic smells of the animals, nothing was much out of the ordinary here.

I found my friend Billy Griffin, who had his travel trailer parked in one section of the vast compound. After checking in with him, I set out on foot to explore the grounds. Billy was a retired clown who now sold tickets in the office. He had a perpetual seven-ounce bottle of Coca Cola in his hand and had been around the circus since he was old enough to join as a teen. We met on the Fisher Bros. circus just a few years prior.

Large silver barns stood empty except for the piles of seat boards that appeared hastily unloaded from the nearby trailers. Now they accumulated the inevitable layer of dust, illuminated by long narrow bands of sunlight coming from overhead. Bundles of canvas were piled atop the stacks as if the elevation would offer some protection. A group of red trailers wait outside, each with its specialized task aboard yet dormant for a time. The splash of color emblazoned on the sides of each one in this setting seemed to stir little excitement.

The lions and tigers are gone, away at a compound in another county but the elephants were here evidenced by the activity going on in a large area at the very back. What was once the fairgrounds grandstand is now a stair stepped roofed barn that housed the pachyderms, all chained in a row. The picket line was not unlike when on the road, except here the chains are secured in the concrete of the floor. This is the only place where a full crew remained. The task of feeding, exercising and picking up after the bulls took place year-round and the nearby steaming mountain of manure was testimony to the magnitude of by-product these animals produce.

With throngs of people absent from this collection of brightly painted apparatus, a different kind of energy dominated the scene. I entered the main barn where a lone workman stood at his bench in the dim light of a solitary bulb. A jig had been made on the workbench to receive three grandstand chairs at a time. This facilitated the ongoing, much-needed repair of hundreds of seats during the winter months. Chairs stacked high dwarfed him as, one-at-a-time, he replaced damaged and worn chair legs, seat boards, and in some cases discarded the trusty folding flat, wooden seat that had easily seen enough loading and unloading for one lifetime. Three of these chairs were attached together with a strap of flat steel top and bottom. All this activity requiring drilling and bolting in addition to simple wood crafting. This lone workman had a pace that would, like the tortoise, get him to the finish line by the time the circus opened in the spring.

Among the plethora of interesting items stored in that vast hall was a Cinderella float. A pumpkin shaped carriage that had obviously occupied this corner for a long time judging by the thick coat of dust that all but obliterated the faded orange paint. Occasionally a scruffy workman, one of many society outcasts, filed into this great barn filled with interesting artifacts to urinate in the corner.

The big top pole trailer with the all-important center poles, quarter poles, side poles and a spare bale-ring occupied the center of this barn. Sacks of rigging and bundles of canvas were aloft in an area designated as a safe from critters and moisture, the two deadly enemies of canvas during storage.

A forgotten trapeze hung from high in the rafters; a silent testimony to one genre of this entertainment’s many art forms. Ticket boxes and trunks of all sorts were stacked nearby. The worn concrete floor had large areas of dried paint with footprints that lead away, evidence of an industry that had taken place long ago in this now fallow environment.

As I emerged through a doorway on the other side, the relentless sunshine bombarded the willing palm trees that separated us from the quaint brick railroad station. As I turned to make my way towards a large grassy field, my route caught up to Superdog. As he zigzagged a path ahead, he looked up to acknowledge me. With a slight hop in his step, he continued to blaze ahead.

As I crossed the field, I recalled that this as where they put the big top up in the spring. My mind began to wander. I pondered generations of circus history that had taken place on these grounds. I perused the preparations that took place decades ago, prior to the time I saw the show as a child and paused to appreciate the multitude of tasks that all blended into the finished product to provide pleasure and entertainment to throngs of people. As I stood alone filled with the wonder of it all, the sun warmed my face. The love of my furry companion warmed my heart. There is no activity taking place here today. It will be a couple of months before these semi-trailers began the annual process of receiving a fresh coat of red paint to get ready for the new season when my services as a sign painter were needed.

March 24, 2026

Uh Oh

Beaming with pride, my attention was soon distracted. I noticed a strange clicking noise coming from the engine in the rear. A glance at the dash was all it took. The oil light was on, so I immediately steered the bus to the side of the road and shut her down. An inspection of the underneath and the rear of the bus looked grim. Oil was all over the back dripping from the engine. My heart sank. Superdog would have to wait in the bus while I hitchhiked for help.

Standing on the side of the road, I studied the view of the grassy fields to the left and right as I waited for the next car to go past. Long amber shafts of grass with full seed heads waved rhythmically in a breeze as large olive and black grasshoppers flew lazy arcs overhead. Tired fences offered shelter to infant trees safe from the routine of mowing along the road and during the harvest of the hay. Clumps of mature sumac, maple and oak took a stand along these boundaries initiating a windbreak and providing shade.

Not much for standing still, my walk took me farther and farther from the disabled bus. A driver, seeing the curious vehicle on the side of the road and the tall longhaired guy continuing on foot figured it out immediately. He slowed down and offered me a ride. Pikeville was only a few miles ahead and yes, he knew of a garage he could take me to.

Soon I faced a shallow, faded white block building with the usual array of rusted car parts and shiny grease stains on the worn driveway. I made my way inside the dimly lit garage and followed paths between piles of worn tires and stacks of oily motor parts and found the woolliest man I have ever seen. He was bent over a car fender concentrating on the cold gray mass of metal under the hood. I began to speak.

As I explained my quandary, he began to smile, lighting up the place. He thought as he wiped his hands on a maroon rag. He then gestured for me to follow him out back. There, he told an enthusiastic youngster immersed in a repair job behind the building about our quest and that we would be back soon. We walked toward a rusty stout truck that, although it started right up, the sound was evidence that the mechanical components were in dire need of attention. Unspeaking, he seemed confident that the truck would make it, so after climbing in, I settled into the most comfortable part of the torn foam seat and held on.

With the help of a tow strap and with me at the wheel soon the decorated bus was rolling down the highway again. Knowing the value of having the vehicle sign work on display, I opted for parking the bus in the front of the garage next to the road. There I could stretch an electric cord and have relative comfort while I arranged for and then waited to get the mechanical work done.

My sign work became a sensation for the youngster working out back. He became interested in, not only my plight, but also my vocation. In contrast, my wooly savior seemed satisfied that his job was done. He didn’t seem to be able to communicate information about the services offered that I would have found helpful. As the result, a solution to my dilemma was not forthcoming.

I set out on foot to find some work. The Auto Parts store wanted their name lettered in an arc across the face of their block building over the front door. While doing this job, I found and used a long piece of quarter-round trim to assist laying out the large arc. When the project was almost complete, two curious sign painters stopped by and asked me how I laid it out.

I also found some glass doors that wanted some business names lettered on them and some trucks to letter. The local fire department/rescue squad became a friendly haven and an excellent place to network with people in this community. I became friends with an ambulance driver and during our chats, I found the same kind of genuine fellowship I enjoyed with my friend Hayes back in Michigan.

Although in just a few days, I had become a productive part of this community, my wooly host wasn’t making any progress on my broken engine.

One night after work, I was invited to go with him and his assistant. It was an evening of drinking and driving the old rusty truck. We went up and down the windy mountain roads that began at the edges of the flat plain and the activity seemed innocent enough. The good old boys were out for a joy ride. That is until the driver made a decision to do something heinous.

In the darkness, on a section of mountain road with a flat area between the curves was a large dumpster. He negotiated the truck in behind the large steel object and gunned the motor. With a loud scream the truck lurched forward and the steel box began to skid away from its resting-place. As I watched this activity in horror, my host purged a cynical laugh and we drove away leaving that large ominous object directly in the path of anyone attempting to use the highway. Although this deviation from the innocent joy ride created concern deep inside me, I was unable to voice my fear. What was I to do? Stranded without hope of escape, it didn’t seem appropriate for me to squeal. I began to fear the homicidal tendencies of my host.

My close friend at the Rescue Squad noticed that nothing was going on with my dead motor. He took it upon himself to retrieve my engine, take it to the rescue squad garage and tear it apart. With his help, we discovered the problem; a valve had dropped and broke a piston. He then found the needed parts and reassembled the motor. Grateful for the camaraderie and prosperous with sign work, now my mechanical needs were being met. I was once again mobile. With a few more sign projects to complete and the show date of the circus in Knoxville now well past, there was no need to hurry out of town.

One morning, I was alarmed to see the ambulance that my friend drove, hooked onto the back of a large wrecker. The front of this rescue vehicle was smashed flat. I found my friend inside the fire department with his head bandaged up and his arm in a sling. He then told me the story.

On a late-night emergency run with an injured patient on board, at a high rate of speed they ran right into something they couldn’t see. The object they hit was somehow sitting right in the middle of the road. I immediately had a flood of emotion grip the inside of the back of my throat rendering me unable to talk.

I was appalled, yet I didn’t know what to do. Should I tattle on the woolly one and risk the vengeance he is capable of? How can I be a friend to this man that is now hurt who took an interest in me when I was down. I was in a terrible quandary.

Like so many times when threatened with the cruel nature of the world, I did not know what to do. I stuffed this down along with the unanswered relational conflicts of childhood, siblings, girlfriends, family and home. This debacle went deep inside to a secret forgotten place and hopefully the episode would stay there forever.

An inner tension existed and I found myself reluctant as I interacted with my injured rescue squad friend. With the last few sign painting projects complete and motor integrity restored, soon I motored away from this place and toward another adventure.

A few weeks lapsed. I looked at the beautifully lettered sign for the circus. They would be long gone by now, headed for California. Sadly, there was no hope of ever delivering that beautiful sign to them. I still have it.

Life deals circumstances that often have no reasonable explanations. There are questions about events that nothing can be done to improve. Such was the emotional quandary that accompanied me as Superdog and I motored away from Pikeville and headed south. The engine was back to its optimal self and the routine of travel resumed, albeit with a different direction due to the extended stay in Pikeville. Plus, it was getting cold outside. I made haste and motored across the peach state.

March 13, 2026March 6, 2026

Circus Vargas

During the wonderful drive climbing the mountainous regions of east central Tennessee, I found many scenic overlooks. These afforded a place to pause, enjoy the vibrant autumn colors and reflect. I also noticed along the way, cardboard arrows to guide the path of a fleet of show trucks. I took a detour to follow the arrows to wherever they led. At the end of my effort, I found a grand tented circus such as I had never seen before.

Circus Vargas was from California and the grassy showgrounds was adjacent to a shopping plaza. The colorful fleet and the flags flying in the breeze atop the large canvas big top was an impressive sight to behold. I didn’t know any of the performers or workers on this show but it didn’t take long to make some contacts.

Thanks to my VW bus being decorated with sign work of all sorts and my habit of parking in a location with maximum visibility, the circus management soon noticed and responded by commissioning a sign. The project would take a few days to complete. I had to find a board and begin with several coats of paint. When the board was dry and ready, I began to letter the copy. The show would be in a different town by the time the sign was complete so I was given a route card. I would deliver the sign in Knoxville where they would play and give two shows the following week.

I found a board at a local lumberyard and had it cut to the proper size. I sanded the edges and began the process of painting front and back with several coats of white enamel to insure a long life. The colors selected for the copy were blue and red and when the board was dry, I was ready to lay out the letters.

A lettering man starts to draw the entire layout with a Stabilo or water-soluble crayon. Having carefully-formed guides for the letters helps prior to the tricky technique of using the brush loaded with paint to depict each letter.

Having an intimate knowledge of letterform is a big part of what it takes to be a lettering artist. Each character is individual and has unique features that must remain intact in order for each character to be recognized. Time-honored rules provide the foundation for re-creating these old lettering styles. Beyond a respect for what remains constant, the variety of possibilities for letterforms is endless.

I became fascinated with this art form partly because it is so vast. That and constant demand for lettering skills exist virtually everywhere.

Creating these forms with enamel paint and a special lettering brush is tricky. First, the paint must be thinned to the proper consistency, with the outside temperature and humidity playing a factor, to achieve proper viscosity. Then, loading the brush with paint requires a special technique. First, the brush is dipped to the hilt to get paint around every hair and after the excess is wiped off on the inside rim of the can, the brush must be palleted, or wiped back and forth on a flat surface to insure even distribution of paint. With the brush fully charged the lettering can begin. It is best not to wait too long because the paint in the brush is liquid and gravity is constantly playing a role. If you wait without doing anything, you run the risk of getting a big drip of paint on your shoe.

Once the brush touches the surface, the same rule applies. The motion of moving the brush across the surface unloads the paint in the area where contact is made using a gradual twist of the brush while lifting away from the surface, allowing one corner to make a sharp point. Round shapes are facilitated by dragging the loaded brush in an arc. Care must be taken not to double-stroke these areas with two layers of paint because the buildup can sag later when the next half dozen letters are complete.

Another discipline that made me efficient as a lettering man was to stop looking at what I had accomplished while I painted and only look where I was going. Adopting this technique increased efficiency and promoted faith in what was going on. Trust the process. Sure, I could glance at what was complete to make sure it was acceptable but my attention must remain focused on where I was going at all times.

Once all the red letters were intact, the time arrived to add some interest to the sign. A shadow is an effect that adds impact. Each letter appears to be an inch thick, standing off the surface. This is accomplished by visualizing where a shadow would fall. I would visualize a light source as coming from above right that would cast a shadow on the area below and left of each letter. By using the brush again to create these shapes I added interest to the sign.

The finishing touch is the border. I secured a pinline wheel device for such a purpose and was pleased with consistent results every time I used it. Once everything on the sign was completely dry, I wiped off the stray crayon lines and had it ready for delivery. Although completely satisfied with the results, I was also aware that my accumulating additional knowledge of letterform would be beneficial.

Soon the beautiful sign was lying on my bunk in the back of the bus. With Superdog smiling in the passenger seat, we headed south through a great valley in the middle of the state of Tennessee. The project was complete in plenty of time to rendezvous with Circus Vargas in Knoxville. All went well on this perfect, sunny day and I was filled with the joy of accomplishment. A comfortable breeze competed with the view of fertile pastureland that stretched out to the foothills of the mountains beyond. Ram Jam played an up-beat rock and roll tune on the eight-track player as Superdog and I motored toward the next town and the circus. I was smug as the accomplishment was sure to impress my customers on the circus and hopefully lead to more work.

March 12, 2026March 6, 2026

The Adventure of a Lifetime

Watching the trees turn color, starting from northern Michigan and traveling across to the central Midwest and on to the southern states in my VW bus during 1977 was perhaps one of the most outstanding events of my lifetime. The magical bus was the perfect conveyance to enjoy the early morning magic while finding another little town, and to peruse the sights around the countryside. I had begun the first autumn viewing and sign painting expedition of my life that wonderful year.

My intention was to start in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and head south through Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee, as the color gradually shifted, with the eventual destination being Florida for the winter. The first jump of my journey after closing with the carnival in Allegan was straight north through the middle of the state. Although the color was about seventy percent in Jackson County, as I headed north the intensity of color became complete. The vibrant yellow and orange scenery whetted an appetite for more. The little bus meandered through quaint villages, stunning farm country, beautiful water and boating destinations that one by one were investigated my Superdog and decorated by Krazee Davee.

I had fallen in love with this state over the last few years while performing in most of the towns across its length and breadth on a tented circus doing one-day stands, doing two shows a day. After high school, I had joined the circus as a drummer in the band and began to live a lifestyle full of adventure. The microbus helped me trace some of the route the show had taken and allowed me to stop in to see a couple of the girls I had met.

Tourist destinations were all closed down by this time, yet apples and pumpkins were available all along the way. The hint of winter rode the breeze and an ominous overcast sky caused me to select a change in plans. I headed south before I arrived at the Mackinaw Bridge. I am continually amazed at how a hundred miles can influence comfort.

With cold weather looming, heading south became priority. Crossing the state line placed us back in the gorgeous autumn weather. As I headed south through Indiana on the interstate, I reached a point where the van started to run rough and soon thereafter, just refused to go any further. I had to hike to the next exit and get friendly with the mechanic that drove the wrecker parked at the gas station.

The first order of business once the van had been pulled to this establishment was to pinstripe and letter the mechanics toolbox as he investigated the mechanical issue. Scottsville, Indiana was the name of the community. I must admit, some of the most memorable times with my beloved bus were when she broke down. Call it divinity, serendipity or whatever you will, but the timing for being here couldn’t have been more perfect. It was almost Thanksgiving and while the VW was waiting for the parts needed, I walked into town to find some work. Literally every store I went to was ready to have Christmas decorations painted on the picture windows and glass doors thanks to the service having been provided for years by the local sign painter, who incidentally, had died the day before I broke down.

This coup allowed me to rapidly establish rapport with all the members of the business community. Not only did I paint Christmas wreaths, Santa’s, Nativities and holiday messages of all sorts for the next few weeks, but the contacts also led me to dude up hot rods, create extensive pen and ink artwork for a nautical themed menu at a local restaurant and fine sign-work for a jewelry store.

Because of the void being left behind with the passing of the local sign painter, I could have easily assumed his role in this town and moved right in. But a longing in my heart was to take me away from this place that could have become my home, but not before a few false starts.

On one occasion, finally complete with the last project, I was ready to head down the highway. An enthusiastic youngster headed me off before I got to the entrance ramp of the interstate. After begging me to paint one more painting, I then returned to his dad’s auto lot to paint a small mural on the glove compartment door in his sports car. I must admit this community had a lot to love.

My life would have fared quite different if I had stayed in that town, but the lure of the highway kept calling. Soon, I was driving along with the festive colors of autumn flanking both sides of the highway. I was headed into Kentucky.

I decided that the autumn colors would be especially pleasant in a college town so Bowling Green became my next destination. At the edge of a nearby town on the way, I stopped at a corner gas station. While looking at the Hot Rod magazines in the rack inside, I met a young fellow. The elaborate paintwork on the bus piqued his curiosity. He had a 40’s car he was making into a hot rod and wanted a mystical scene painted on the large trunk lid. I followed him to his family’s large sawmill and saw the dark blue vehicle in one of the buildings. On the car, I visualized a rugged mountain scene with a castle atop in the midst of subtle clouds and a large moon. The foreground would have a winding road that led to the ominous dwelling.

During the project, I was made part of the family. Meals took place in their large home in town, in an equally large kitchen. I sat at the biggest dining table I had ever seen and enjoyed the family style of passing large serving bowls heaped with southern vittles. Collard greens, fried okra, lima beans, cornbread, fried chicken and mashed potatoes with white gravy were among my favorites. In addition to my hosts siblings and parents, his grandparents sat at this large table for each meal.

I painted the castle a small size, leaving plenty of room for the rest of the vista on the car trunk lid. I wanted the architectural features of the structure to be accurate upon close inspection. Intricate details for this airbrushed castle were created with the help of cutting friskets or stencils. I carefully cut out interesting shapes from index cards and sprayed color through them. The tedious process produced stunning results that my customer, now my friend, found very pleasing. Finally, complete, I took the memories of this job, being part of his family and the Polaroid photo of this latest masterpiece and bid adieu and headed south into Tennessee.

March 11, 2026March 6, 2026

The County Fair

By august, the time for the Jackson County Fair had arrived. During a rare day off on the Fisher Bros Circus a few years ago I recalled a trip with Hayes to meet his friend Jim Elliott who was setting up his ride. He was now the manager of W G Wade Shows. I figured this would be another place to thrive. With my last twenty dollars, I bought a gallon of paint thinner, a case of beer and had enough left to pay my admission into the fairgrounds. I was then out of money. This situation became do or die.

Once on the fairgrounds, I put a sign under my arm that said “Signs, all kinds” and started walking. I walked around the midway until a showman named Eddie saw me. He hired me to letter “3 plays quarter” on his two Digger games 46 times. While I worked, word got around that I was here.

Next, I met Tim. He had a request to paint something very special. Tim had a stunning clown design and wanted a design embellished with scrollwork and his initials. In order to paint this on either end of his Skee-Ball alley trailer, I had to begin after closing at night and paint throughout the night. The alley was open for business all day. The next morning, my efforts were on display as the showmen awakened. Tim Bors was pleased and would become a steady customer and one of my favorite carnival showmen of all time.

An older man named Peg had a limp and owned a peanut company. He guided me over to where a cute girl was working in one of his lemonade stands. As he encouraged rapport between us, he mentioned that she would really enjoy having her name lettered on the entry door of the trailer. I was happy to oblige as I basked in the glow of her smile. The finished product promoted a sense of pride and even more of her grateful smile. When the project was done, I couldn’t find Peg anywhere to get paid for that name. I never saw him again.

Additional requests for sign work assumed flood status. Soon I was as busy as ever. Although falling for the slick manipulative ploy by Peg, I did go on to become the sign painter for his son and his adopted grandson who still tour with their premier concession operation.

Jack & Sid had the popcorn concession on the show. They had two brand new cotton candy booths. They wanted me to paint fancy Victorian scrollwork around the tops of these booths to imitate what was popular on the circus. They also wanted portraits of clowns holding a cotton candy painted around the base. I referred to an image of friend Bernie Kallman, a clown on the CBCB circus and created his likeness for them. They became not only good customers but great friends. From that humble start, I went on to meet more showmen who provided interesting artistic challenges.

Soon, as the sign painter at the county fair, I drove my little bus among the components of the midway in the morning, parked alongside my next project, behind rides and between concession trailers. All I needed was a little niche near my project. Then as the throngs of fair goers arrived to mill about, I became lost in the project at hand. I had found that perfect place to fit in.

I was encouraged to follow them to the State Fair, where I continued to be as busy as ever. Making money, producing a variety of decorative projects and eating the fun foods that this industry is famous for became my modus operandum. As I became immersed in this society, I also began to notice activities unique to this industry going on in the background – both during the fair and especially during tear down and set up.

I have always been fascinated with how the circus was able to accomplish moving all the components of a giant tented city every day. Here on the carnival, the equipment was much more sophisticated and engineered to perform amazing things. The engineering that went into, not only the ability to carry passengers on a variety of undulating circular ride paths, but the portability that allowed these steel masterpieces to fold up into a manageable size was amazing. During tear down, I was often studying how the crew worked together as the load was transferred from spindle to carrying rack.

These observations opened up a whole new world. I never saw this entertainment environment as the naive patron did. At first, I sought a huge canvas waiting to be enhanced with decorative paint. The I became savvy to why these components work. I studied the mechanics, the science of marketing, the seduction using music, art and lights. I also recognized the psychology of influencing behavior and developed my art form to create desire and appeal. In an effort to better serve this industry, I began to study and become fascinated with other forms of art. I studied comic books, magazine ad illustration, letter forms and color theory.

These showmen competed for attention. Each one seemed to be obsessed with “look at me,” and for good reason. The more effective their advertising, the more they sold. As they sought to out-do each other, requests for finer and more intentional work became an uncanny payoff that benefited us all. Split color roman letters with triple outlines and a double-shadow would tie me up for days, denying a competitor access to the sign man. As they competed, I thrived.

I learned quite a bit about effective visual marketing and how artwork adds to the entertaining environment of the fairgrounds that summer. After the last fair of the season, I received a request from the manager of the show, Jim Elliott. The final project would be on his living quarters/house car.

“I want elephants painted there,” he commanded while pointing at the side, adding, “and I want the paint real thick.”

His green semi soon received elephant heads surrounded by orange circus scrollwork. While I worked on this final project the crew parked the ride equipment in the barns at the fairgrounds for the winter. With the season over I returned to Clarklake.

Hayes reveled at the stories of my adventures and the photos of sign work when I returned to his home. I was motivated to continue with my career as a sign painter. I had an idea for a drawing table to use wherever I went. In an effort to be helpful, he gave me some nice cherry wood slats that I fashioned into folding supports for a portable drawing table that would pack away in the bus. That project was complete when the jacks were varnished and the slats pinstriped.

As the trees began to turn orange in the fall, I took my cue to start my next adventure. I planned to drive first to northern Michigan and then head south to enjoy the fall foliage change across Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee. I would find sign painting opportunities all along the way.

March 10, 2026March 6, 2026

The First VW

My love affair with the Volkswagen bus began on a sunny afternoon, as I sat in the passenger seat of a pickup truck. I was waiting for my friend to return from the Veterinarian’s office where he had taken his little dog for shots. I hitchhiked earlier that year to visit Billy Griffin in Florida to secure a job on the Clyde Beatty Cole Bros Circus. I found out the rigors of my role as the 24-hour man would not completely satisfy my relentless inner creative urge.

I discovered the merits of the winter in Florida. Sunshine and palm trees coincide with practical weather and enabled life and work to take place outdoors. As I sat in the truck, through the side window I saw a magical vehicle pull in and park next to me. The microbus was dark green and rigged for camping with jalousie windows on each side and a bicycle rack on the front. A flowery couple enjoying themselves ambled out of it and went into one of the stores.

As I studied this unique vehicle, I was sold. I realized this small practical vehicle could provide housing in addition to transportation. This would allow travel and adventure and be the perfect conveyance for a guy with a dog pursuing a trade. That brief introduction to Volkswagen piqued my interest for a compact, unique and loveable mode of transportation.

Three months later, my handling the logistic and advance duties for the largest big top circus on earth was over. I decided the time was ripe to launch my career as a sign painter.

My companion Superdog and I hitchhiked from the Adirondacks, over the mountains of Pennsylvania and across Ohio to land in Michigan where I shared tales of my adventures with friend Hayes.

In a moment of epiphany, as we sat together in his living room, I announced something pivotal.

“Hayes,” a new thought had entered my mind, “I’ve decided that I ought to become a sign painter.”

Inwardly, he chuckled, having known the perfection and perhaps inevitability of this career direction.

“That sounds like a great idea,” beamed his response.

In anticipation of my visit, Hayes had fashioned some decorative shaped boards in his wood shop, routed ornamental edges on them and varnished them to an admirable shine. While I enjoyed respite from the road, Hayes asked me to paint images of his prized birds: a Komourner Tumbler, pigeon and a bantam on the plaques. One board had such a shape that the likeness of the standing Komourner left a blank place in one corner. No problem. I painted a likeness of a blue ribbon and lettered “Champion” on it. Like déjà vu, the next spring at a competition, that bird got a blue ribbon.

Hayes also liked the idea of pinstripes to decorate the slats on the utility trailer he pulled behind his car. Although my first attempts qualified as crude, his enthusiasm for my effort was genuine. I was also getting geared up to serve my customer in Clarklake, Tom Collins, who wanted more signs for the Beach Bar.

One day Hayes spotted a VW bus with a “for sale” sign in the front window along Highway 231 and suggested that we go look at it. The next thing I knew, I was the owner of a 1964 bus with jalousie windows and a pop-top roof, all set up to camp out in. The interior had cabinets and a bunk. Once the bus was mine, I designated an area for my painting gear, personal effects and comfortability for my dog.

The first order of business was to decorate this bus. A perfect panel existed next to the jalousie windows to letter the word signs. I was also experimenting with a device called an airbrush. After securing a CO2 bottle for propellant, I emblazoned my moniker “Krazee Davee” across the entire side in an effective way. A bright orange splat became a comical decorative element above and around the driver’s window to suggest that I had been pelted with something orange. To add to the humor, upon this funny shape I lettered, “I got it!” Then the adventure of a lifetime began.

I started that summer enjoying the barefoot, casual experience of lettering signs at the Beach Bar, with regular intervals of simply walking across the street and immersing myself in the refreshing water of Clark Lake. Becks was on tap and I made friends with several of the waitresses, one of whom became instrumental with my future.

Over the years I made additional signs, logos, gilded window treatments, murals and T-shirt designs for the Beach Bar. What became the focal point in the dining room, was the fancy plate-glass piece with glue-chipped fern shapes in the glass with gold leaf designs to showcase an old-time photo of his dad with his dog. The inscription read ‘Best Friends Meet at the Beach Bar.’ My development over the years from an enthusiastic beginner into an accomplished professional coincided with the Beach Bar morphing from a drink shots and get crazy joint into a respectable place to bring the whole family for dinner.

Being on display while I worked became an effective way to find the next customer. When the annual summertime festival on Clark Lake occurred, my bus was parked in the middle and I lettered signs while I met the people who lived in the area.

The magical microbus transported Superdog and myself to many places. Whenever I needed work, I found the downtown drug store where merchants gathered for a cup of coffee at ten o’clock each morning. I became an attraction when I parked the decorated bus outside and began to paint on it. Lettering ‘Mobile Sign Shop’ across the roof of the bus was one such undertaking. This manner for meeting clients was effective.

Adding to the existing sign work on my vehicle always lead to a job or two from the local merchants. While I painted away on the exterior, someone would ask me to come with them and look at their storefront. Then, I would have a store window, an office door, truck or a van to work on with never a lack of ideas for designs.

Early in my relationship with the VW, a slight inconvenience occurred. The beloved bus refused to start. After some frustration, I became elated to find out that if I planned ahead and parked on a hill, the situation was easy to live with. When the time came to go, I rolled down the hill and popped the clutch while in gear and this vehicle started right up. Even on a flat area, the small size of the vehicle made it easy to get rolling; I pushed it myself and then jumped into the driver’s seat to repeat the above-mentioned procedure. Soon we roared on our way.

I saved my money for a new starter. Little did I know that this situation also provided an opening to influence more than just mechanical integrity.

Hayes suggested I go downtown to Fletcher’s Garage in Jackson to get the starter. I arrived in front of the two-story brick storefront with service bays and out of habit, scanned the available parking spaces for one with a suitable incline to facilitate starting. I then went inside and spoke to the new owner of the business. Kelly Osborne was my age.

“I would like to buy a starter from you, but I don’t have enough money to hire you to install it,” I began, “Can I buy the part from you and install it myself in your driveway?”

Evidently this odd request coming from a good-natured individual created a good impression, because his response was to be helpful. When the bus was in front of his bay doors I went underneath to dismount the starter. This was when I discovered I did not have the proper tools to get the job done. Soon I was back inside.

“May I borrow a socket to remove the rear bolt?”

My good-natured host provided me with the tool I needed.

Over the years Kelly not only became a good friend, but his place of business, renamed ‘Kelly Imports,’ soon sported sign work by Krazee Davee.

During several points in my career, his garage housed a variety of my painted projects. He allowed me to decorate business vehicles there along with making 4×8 wooden signs. I even decorated a complete set of rounding boards for a carousel there one winter. Those were the days of sharing an amber beverage on a tailgate after work with an occasional smoldering herbal accompaniment.

As the years brought maturity to the fellows at Kelly Imports, in addition to keeping an endless succession of VW buses running for me, they became mentors of clean-living and fine examples of living successful lives.