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Brownie Silverlake was a funny man. I knew him as an elderly dynamo with plenty to say about everything. The Silverlake family owned the circus. He was the clown of the circus by reputation and role. 

The traveling tented circus was a study in efficiency. The daily routine of erecting the large tents, seats, and rigging receive constant scrutiny. The result was work accomplished without wasted motion. The rookie had plenty of hardworking and experienced role models to learn from. The brightest rookies surpassed their peers with novel ways of effectiveness. Efficiency made the massive job possible daily as the tented city took shape in another town.  

The circus is a magical place made up of many common things. Worn wooden planks and poles tell the silent story about their career. The sepia canvas overhead gathered odd patterns formed by the countless encounters with man and mud, an amorphous testimony to the determination of the crew to move the show under all weather conditions.  

Geometrical patterns of rope and fabric combine to make up the big top tangible proof that sailmakers of yesteryear are still alive. A plethora of knots and rope used to secure countless components were the likes of which a macramé aficionado could appreciate. 

Include unusual displays of animal achievements. Alongside the stereotypical hucksterism and choreographed thrills that kept the audience in suspense. Enjoy hypnotic patterns made by jugglers, aerialists in colorful costumes and unexpected clown comedy surprises. Add to this eclectic mix the music of the circus.  All of this created a genuinely enlightening folk art entertainment. These simple elements combined to create a unique living and breathing art form known as the circus performance. 

Just as my father watched the circus come to town with his young friend, I began the same ritual of waiting until the circus came into my town. I got up early to see the tents go up. When old enough, I would volunteer to help with the work of setting-up the circus to earn a ticket to see the show.  

It may have been every boy’s dream to one day to run away and join the circus. Few ever did. They missed out on mustering the courage to follow an intuitive hunch. To me the idea was irresistible. I came to realize that this was perhaps the smartest thing I ever did. It took guts and determination to do what was deep in my heart in spite of popular general opinion and prejudice. Finally, here I am old enough to be on my own and with it. Immersed in the daily circus routine that my dad had only observed, I am living his dream. 

Many times during the performance Brownie appeared dressed as a clown. First he showed up with a llama who could jump a hurdle, do a front knee walk, lay down, sit up and then kneel to bow. The manner in which the llama performed these feats was something the audience loved.  

Later in the show Brownie appeared with a pony that would run around the ring and change directions on command. The little horse could walk the ring curb with his front feet, perform a waltz, then rear and bow, all for a tidbit of carrot as his reward.  

Later a herd of goats came in and stood in position on pedestals. The variety of goats included a very exotic looking one with long course hair that undulated as it moved, to those with mighty winding horns. Mixed in were the common farm goats filled the ranks with playful manner. This made them fun to watch. One by one the goats performed their rehearsed act with the agility for which they are known. Brownie led his charges through the routine of jumping through hoops, rolling a barrel, and balancing on a ball, while one of the other animals, acted as a comedian and seemed to purposefully botch up the clown’s tricks.  

The most unusual of Brownie’s furry performers appeared late in the show. The crowd always reacted with a unanimous gasp at the sight of Brownie and his male baboon. The baboon was comical as he proceeded to ride a bicycle or walk on his hands. Midway through the routine, Brownie would feign sitting down. Brownie would then pretend to light up a cigarette for a smoke break.  

As the audience carefully witnessed this somewhat out of character activity, suddenly a small green hand would reach up and grab the smoldering cigarette from out of his mouth. At this, Brownie would jump up in surprise to see the baboon with a lit cigarette in his mouth. As this primate was puffing away, he prompted a round of giggles and roars of laughter from the audience. 

The elephant act was incredible. After the pachyderm bowed, stood and sat up on the tub, the show ended. On the heels of the satisfied, exiting patrons, the tear down process began. The frenzied pace of work resumed and in about the same amount of time it took me to pack up the drums, the seats were loaded, sidewall was on the ground and removal of the poles holding up the tent had begun. I had to quickly pack up my drums and get out of the tent for fear that the canvas would come down on my head.  

Once the drums were loaded in the truck, I saw the canvas on the ground and an elephant had started pulling tent stakes. This was a rhythmic dance for the pachyderm, going three steps forward with her head going down while the handler wrapped the chain hanging from the elephant’s neck around the stake. On command, her head went up and a fore foot kicked the chain. In that one swift movement another stake was dislodged.  

I also saw the canvas boss shout orders in an attempt to give order to the assembly of workers now walking on top of the canvas. He ordered them into one long row pulling together on the edge of the tent. As I watched, they folded it up. These activities had been a source of fascination for me since I was a kid.  

Now as if waking in a dream, in the midst of it all, while scanning the darkness I saw a friendly figure with a bucket. It was Brownie making sure his goat co-stars and the other animals including the ride ponies were well fed, watered and bedded down for the night.  

In just forty-five minutes the circus show had ended and all of the equipment was loaded. A little bit of camaraderie took place at the cookhouse, but the pre-dawn wakeup call came early. One-by-one we found our bunks to get some sleep. 

On awakening I saw the dark sky had begun to turn red. Some of the truck engines warmed up and the drivers drank their coffee and made last-minute preparations. The big top and its crew headed out to be the first to perform their important task. 

Brownie enlisted help in the morning to load the livestock, picket line and leave the manure in a pile. The animal trucks were the last of the show equipment to leave the lot. The performers with their private trailers had the luxury of getting additional sleep before heading out. One-by-one the tail-lights of the show trucks disappeared in the darkness as they left the lot and rounded the first corner. I rode shotgun in the cab of the elephant truck, anxious for the adventure this new day would bring.    

Later that morning the trek to the next town was complete. The trucks were in their assigned parking spots and the fast pace of work had begun. In contrast to this frenzied routine was the old man, the patriarch of the family that owned the show. The concise manner in which he assumed his first task – to unload the animals – was at a calm pace.  

Brownie walked through the wet grass with two metal stakes and a sledge hammer. The site for the picket line, the device used to secure livestock in green grass was carefully selected. Optimum nourishment for the livestock was his priority. Once the stakes were driven, a thick rope was stretched between them and secured with a half-hitch at either end. Next the ramp was unloaded with the help of another worker and the animals were unloaded.  

Brownie took good care of the animals, after all they were his property. He made sure that they were carefully guided down the ramp and properly secured in wholesome locations. He also found time for an enthusiastic and interested young rookie who zeroed in on this circus personality. At his core, Brownie was a genuine and kind man with a serene demeanor.           

Remarkable stories flowed at the cookhouse table long after our daily meals were over. The stories continued as I tagged along with him to tend to his menagerie. I became a willing volunteer to help with many tasks. While helping Brownie care for the animals, I received the same kindness and encouragement he provided the livestock he loved like his own family. 

I received instructions on how to properly care for the animals and to water them. First carefully place the bucket of water inside the radius of the rope that secured the animal to the picket line. Let the bail of the bucket fall away from the animal so that it does not accidentally get stuck on the snap on the halter secured to the animal’s head. Then allow him to take a drink. Just as predicted, the ponies would put their nose in the water and take a good long draw. Then, as I watched, the pony would raise his head and look around for a few moments to think about something, then go back to the bucket and take another long drink. 

“Boys who are in a hurry when they are watering often miss this,” he would explain while pointing out this tendency for the pony to pause, “and the animal doesn’t get all they want to drink.” 

Under his tutelage, I learned to not to be in a hurry when I water the ponies. 

Brownie was a gentle man and the animals sensed this and appeared to trust him. Patience came to Brownie naturally from the accumulated years spent on the road performing, training and accomplishing tasks with a variety of animals. He was born on a traveling show that used teams of baggage horses to move the wagons overland. The elephants were sometimes literally walked to the next town. He gained and was in possession of a rare wisdom as a result.  The age long ago provided him a quality of horse sense that I imagine was universal in an earlier time. 

I benefitted from his animal philosophy and the curious aspects that no longer exist in our culture. While part of this circus family, I became efficient, learned how to travel light, and developed a kind heart toward all animals. I became, to others, what his example was to me. The most valuable gift you can give another person is to be a source of kindness and fun.             

Living my dream was only part of why I was here on the circus. A year prior I realized I was not happy at home. I was tired of over-reactive parents and the constant battling among my siblings. I sought to make an improvement and the circus had my attention. My father sensing this struck a bargain with me. He would cooperate with getting me and my drums to the show if I would promise to return to get my last year of school complete. I agreed to this. 

  While on the road, I inquired among the showmen about the skills I could acquire back at school that would be considered handy around the circus. I was encouraged to learn welding. Needing only two more credits to graduate upon my return, I took music and art classes and was awarded an independent study pass that allowed complete freedom to come and go as I pleased. 

I spent a lot of time at the library reading about the circus. At night school, I attended a welding class with a bunch of roughnecks honing their skills and seeking the certification required for this trade. I later found out that my dad would frequently visit my counselor, begging him to talk me out of becoming a circus man – what he considered to be a hair-brained scheme. My counselor looked at my dad in disbelief.  

He said, “all day long I deal with kids that are about to graduate who don’t know what they want to do. This kid is on fire! He knows what he wants to do … Leave him alone.”   

I was able to graduate in January before my seventeenth birthday. As soon as I was able, I left to return to the circus. 

The circus is not on the road during the winter. This is when building, painting and maintenance take place. I was welcomed as a budding artist, enthusiastic about the creation of circus art. I began to ply my trade in winter quarters on the show fleet.   

When I arrived at the circus winter quarters, I was eager to resume the routine of helping Brownie take care of the animals. My days filled with painting festive designs and lettering of all sorts on the circus fleet but every evening before supper, I tagged along with Brownie among the labyrinth of warm and smelly stalls, paddocks and the wooden housing in the barn filled with livestock. The routine was the same. Amidst the sounds of the critters communicating their anxious cries of feed me noises, Brownie carried a bucket and scoop to the feed barrel to fill it and then to visit each stall. Once the animals all had a mouthful of feed, the barn became remarkably quiet again, aside from the subtle crunching and chewing noise. Then he went to where the summer hay was stored to get a square bale to feed the animals. 

One of my favorite memories occurred in this special place. Brownie would cut the twine on a bale and pull the strings out from around the hay in order to prepare to distribute the flakes to the animals as soon as they finished their grain. In this moment, he would pause. He never missed an opportunity to perform. I wondered if he came up with these funny bits to pass the time while he was alone simply to entertain himself.  

Standing there with the bale twines hanging from his hand he would glance around, looking for a place to put them. This gesture was silly, because for the last umpteen years every piece of twine was discarded over the same wooden fence rail in the corner of the walkway. This was obvious by the massive pile of twine reminiscent of a snowdrift. When Brownie would see this, he’d perk up and seem to decide for the first time that this is where the twine would go. Satisfied with his decision, he placed the twine on top of the pile and brush his hands together to emphasize that they were empty. Then he would pause again with another gesture equally calculated and twice as entertaining to contemplate the growing mountain of twine.   

As if inspired, he would perk up and lean towards me to confide, “Someday, I’m going to think of something to make with all of that.” 

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!”