fiction – Letterfly Writes

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 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.

February 24, 2026February 24, 2026

Calamity

Intensely independent to a fault, I wasn’t receptive to the suggestions of some of my fellow showmen who saw a problem with the engineering of the trailer hitch I had built myself. The challenge of putting a trailer behind a big truck is with the highway pounding that is amplified by a hitch that is far from the rear axle. I had stretched the frame on the truck for this big box, creating a hostile environment behind for the trailer to withstand. In an effort to solve this problem, I built a swinging hitch stabilized with a leaf spring. But rather than compromise the storage area over the hitch and allow for movement needed to negotiate severe driveways, I inadvertently created an up and down stress magnifier. Any severe angle I drove through transferred tremendous strain through my hitch into the trailer frame, promoting breakage.

The rigors of the jumps promoted breakage on the frame of the calliope trailer hooked behind this monster rig. Sometimes the breaks were so drastic that I couldn’t continue. Staying behind to get the cracks in the frame strengthened took time away from performing. I was instead parked next to a welding shop with my livestock unloaded nearby.

During this respite, I would often saddle up the horse and go for a long ride. Also tagging along on the trail ride was the baby pony and my two dogs. In addition to my trusty companion Superdog, I had adopted a Samoyed, who I named Imanova.

As a group of five, we would head one direction for a mile, then turn north and continue for another mile. While on these outings, I not only bonded with these critters, but while in the saddle I had yet another opportunity to study the details of this foreign land. Repeating this pattern of change in direction yielded a continual visual assessment of my new surroundings. We made a curious sight along the way. Tall guy, big horse, small pony baby and two white dogs on parade in the country.

There is a rhythm, as I have mentioned many times before, that takes place with the population of a circus doing one day stands. As the energy is expounded, the routine is not unlike controlled fusion. But when an interruption comes to the routine of continual effort, time alone can become a foreign experience and the wheels keep spinning. I already consumed beer on a regular basis, burning off the effects as energy was invested throughout the day. Now with idle time, waiting for repairs, the same consumption rate expanded to produce other consequences. Mixed with an inclination to explore, with my guard down, I sought interesting places to mix with my environment and consume.

While broke down in Dauphin, I attended the Ukrainian festival, a drinking festival. The aftermath seemed to be streets sprinkled with the broken glass of many beer bottles. When the repairs were complete, with a head full of cobwebs, I caught up to the show. Then it was time to resume the insane pace of working all day and continue to party every night.

Near the end of the season at one town in northern Ontario, situation created a new scenario. All day rains made the lot soft. After the elephants pulled everything off the lot, there was no place to park the fleet. The decision was made by management to drive that night to the next town, 250 miles away. I had already made plans that night to see the band at the hotel and eat some pizza. I figured after the party I would do my driving.

Never occurring to me that this wasn’t very smart, while driving late that night, I nodded at the wheel. Hearing the rumble strips, I woke abruptly to see that I was going off the road. Panicked, I yanked the steering wheel hard to the right in an attempt to get straight and back on the road, but the angle was too steep. I watched the horizon rotate clockwise to assume a vertical stance as the top-heavy rig laid over on its side. Once the huge thump and the skidding stopped, I was stunned. I had to stand up in the now sideways cab, reach up to open the passenger door that was over my head. After crawling out, I stood on the side of the rig to realize the predicament I was in.

Feelings sank as I heard the ponies clamber helplessly inside the rig that was now on its side. I was now wide awake. Not knowing what to do in the depth of night on this forlorn road in the middle of the desolate wilderness of northern Ontario, I began to walk. After what seemed a significant hike, I came to a house and went up the long drive to the front door and knocked. I awakened the couple that resided there who then became helpful and called the police.

Then a series of interactions with rescue personalities began. Back at the accident site, I saw how narrowly my truck missed going down a deep ravine instead of resting against the telephone pole that prevented its further decline. As I assessed the damage with the rescue crew, I saw my horse lying on the side of the road knocked out. He had slid up the inside wall and burst through the metal roof. Jagged metal edges now surrounded him. Being knocked out was a blessing that prevented him from flailing and shredding his legs against the jagged metal.

A group of us dragged him away from that danger. The sun was just coming up as the wrecker arrived to upright the rig. A local horseman had been called to show up with a stock trailer to take the ponies and horse off the roadside to his farm. I would discover, only a few days later, that he wanted an exorbitant fee for his troubles, validating a suspicion that what he really wanted was to keep my ponies. Miraculously, only one pony had a splinter in his neck. The entire troop was unhurt.

The wrecker took the rig first to the circus grounds. My fellow showmen were shocked at the sight. I was filled with an immense shame for what I had done. There on the lot, after the show left for the next town, I began to attempt to get the wreck ready to roll again. I wrapped a long chain around the burst box to keep it closed and pried the bent metal features of my beloved pony truck into a useable situation. Then I started it up.

With steam and motor fluids coming from the engine, I drove to where the ponies were turned loose in a paddock, paid the extortionist his fee and loaded the livestock, except for the baby who he received as part of his pay. I crept toward what I hoped was a friendly town, where the show planned to winter the equipment at the fairgrounds. There I found a man with a trotting horse stable who let me put my stock in an empty paddock.

I was lost, not knowing where to turn. I hitchhiked back to the show, and after eating at the cookhouse, John Frazier revealed his true nature to me. To him I was just a commodity. I think that Al Stencell was inclined to want to help me but was quieted by his partner. John realized without means to get my enterprise to the next lot, I was no longer useful to him and eating in the cookhouse cost money. He became a belligerent, unfeeling monster and ran me off the show.

I went from that place dazed. On top of the shame that compounded with disbelief for what I had done, a myriad of other feelings propelled me into an emotional bottom. Doubly tragic was the premise held that the circus was my family. I was learning through this predicament the hard way that my value to this family is conditional. I had learned as a child that I get my value from what I produce. This explained why I obsessively added to my repertoire.

Without my ability to produce, I was alone. Now with an aggregation of bent up, useless equipment and livestock stranded in a foreign country, I am rejected by my people. In the midst of a deepening grief, I realize the magnitude of what I had done. I was alone with this mess. In the depths of depression, I slowly began to attend to immediate needs. One of which was to try to extinguish the deepening grief. Somehow.

December 18, 2025

Sir Bingo

The auction barn in the middle of the fairgrounds in Hugo, Oklahoma during the off- season of 1975-76 had become a familiar place. Now during my third winter, energy was invested as I learned to work the horse that Bob Grubb had not only trained to perform a circus act but had raised from a baby. Now as a five-year-old, “Bingo” could march, bow, side step, lay down, sit up, rear, volte, and do the camel stretch. Each rigorous session with this horse concluded when Bob saw an improvement in how we were getting along and instructed me to “walk him cool.”

Part of what I enjoyed with this horse was to just get away and go for a ride. The streets of Hugo were used to seeing unusual sights around town because of the circus people who lived here. Occasional mornings we deviated from the rigors of practice and Bingo and I went sightseeing. This was a reward for doing well.

His father was buckskin with a black mane and tail and his mother was a white and sorrel paint horse. The combination they conceived was a white and buckskin paint body with white legs and a black mane. Spectacular was his tail; white with a black tip.

My time in the saddle became a time to think through the many other tasks that were waiting and to organize a plan for accomplishing them in the afternoon. This equine enterprise came with additional fascinating elements. Julie, one of the ponies, was pregnant. With Bob’s encouragement, we situated a foaling stall for her in the barn.

One rainy morning we discovered a wet baby in the stall. As we watched, the little wonder struggled at first to find a way up to her feet. After a few wobbly attempts, she finally stood. Seeing this wonder cemented awe. This addition to the group, as the season progressed, would prove as yet another target for my affection and an ongoing source of fun.

I had a challenge not predicted. The truck allowed great comfort for just the pony act. In order to haul the horse in the truck, I had to rearrange the floor plan. Instead of ample room for just them with the manger alongside an entire side, the interior of the truck received changes. Part of the manger was removed; the ponies were squeezed tight to the front and a standing stall was built along the outside wall for “Bingo.” The remaining area in the other corner was reserved for Julie and the baby. A small wall prevented Bingo’s front feet from stepping on anyone in front of him. I had to cross-tie his head up high to keep him from biting Finley, who now stood underneath and in front of him.

Adding the horse pushed the limit of this truck over the top. As the winter practice session came to its conclusion, the time arrived to go. I headed toward another brief tour, this time across Louisiana. I would perform the horse act for the first time. Then my plan was for another tour of Canada. Starting in Louisiana in the spring with what was left of the old Fisher Bros Circus, I worked my new act in front of sparse crowds.

The season of 1976 began with tire trouble. The pony truck was now overloaded. The leaf springs seemed to be getting tired. To prevent the tires from rubbing the underside of the truck box, I placed blocks of wood as spacers between the overloaded leaf springs. At one time I thought the best way to see the country would be on a traveling circus. That is just not true. The best way to see the details that abound and get to know the locals in this country is to be broke down between towns on a circus. I would see plenty this season.

At one location in Louisiana it was impossible to continue my trip without replacing tires. I was in picturesque bayou country. Spanish moss hung from Grandfather Oak trees. My rig stopped along a quiet road. I had room to unload. The ponies were out on the picket line, with the baby and Bingo nearby. I awaited assistance from a tire service truck. While there I studied the details of the weathered surroundings bleached by the relentless sun.

A long, low wooden building with large porch had no exterior indications to hint at what was inside aside from the neon beer signs in the windows. Completely open sided most of the year, a corrugated metal roof provided shade. Old wooden chairs invited comfort on the creaky wooden floor. A spring-loaded screen door with a porcelain “Tetley Tea” push bar across the middle would slam after each customer pried it open and went in or out.

This was not a highly traveled road. My compromised parking site on the side of the road was not a big concern for the slow-moving people in this sparsely populated and pleasant area. When the tire truck arrived my ability to roll down the highway was restored. I returned to the pace of two shows a day for the remaining weeks of the short season.

An oasis occurred when that short tour was over partway to the opening town. Those of us heading to Canada stopped at a family farm in Missouri to lay over for a few days. At that place I had an opportunity to paint the red stripe around the truck box. I also saw the remains of the hippopotamus semi that I took care of a few years prior. Ava had died. It was rusting, unused in the woods. We left in plenty of time to make the long trip to Alberta for the opening of season 1976 with Royal Bros Circus.

Prior to Memorial Day, the long jump to western Canada was complete and we were ready to open early summer. In addition to the six-pony liberty act and my new horse act, I played the pre-show calliope concert on the midway and became “David McDavid” the bagpipe player in the side show. I also worked the magic act as taught to me by Dennis Michael where I had the bird whistle pitch.

The baby pony, only months old, had begun to prefer hanging around Bingo, who was loose while other ponies were secure on the picket line. With increasing bravado, the baby’s territory increased. The baby began to follow us while I rode Bingo. The performance each day started with Spec, the parade of all the performers around the three rings in the big top. While I rode my horse, the little baby trotted along behind to the amusement of everybody.

The Royal Bros Circus opened the 1976 season in southern Alberta. The route took us up into the foot hills of the Rockies to several spectacular resort towns. In the midst of this rugged splendor, a flat place large enough to put up a circus was rare but, there we were. The raggedy old big top with our curious collection of rolling stock was pitched between the imposing mountains that dwarfed us and our specific intention. One day was especially memorable.

One sunshiny day prior to the matinee with the mountains looming all around us, I remember standing on the bally platform with the others during the side show opening. A sudden gust of wind blew way up in the mountains. A few moments later we were lightly dusted with the snow dislodged from the high altitudes. A chill of delight passed through the crowd accompanied this surprise. In a few moments the sun warmed us back up. We were immersed in some of the most picturesque country I had ever seen accumulating vivid memories.

One magical, dark morning, I drove into the tempering horizon with the foothills at my back. The roadbed leveled onto a long flat stretch. Ahead I saw a layer of fog that looked like a lakebed settled on the lower altitude. As the jump continued, I descended into this foggy area and became immersed in dense, misty surroundings. Visual access to the surrounding terrain disappeared. This was the fog of the cliché about your hand in front of your face.

Mile after mile I drove with utmost caution. Unknown to me, the sun began to rise. Accumulating light slowly illuminated the surface of this layer of fog, just above me. A visual sensation began and became a magical dance of light. An ocular rhythm occurred due to moving forward underneath the surface of this sea of fog. The light interacted with the irregular surface of the cloud and combined with a slow turbulence as it responded to the warming rays of sunshine. The visual experience that morning was not unlike the mystique of the Aurora Borealis.

On the other side of that long low stretch, an incline allowed me to emerge from the fog, where I witnessed the most splendiferous sunrise I have ever seen, in a sky so huge it must obviously have some of Montana’s mixed in with it.

This spectacular wonder was just one of the many visual sensations that mixed with the joy of being a performing horseman, creative in many ways that also served to validate the original decision to join the circus. To this day I remain on the lookout to continue seeing new wonders in this world that God has created. This life I have been gifted with continues to fill me with awe and zeal for each and every new day.

November 25, 2025

Circus Horses

On the big spectacular three ring circus of yesteryear, horses commanded the performance tober. The lavish warm-up display prior to the presentation of the elite dancing horse act, was a massive pageant of Manege horses filling all the rings and the hippodrome track in front of the audience. Among the circus equestrian performing arts, the Manege horse is an entry-level performing animal that the novice rider soon fulfills. Famous for the lay-down, sit up, bow, march and camel stretch, these poses are manageable by most riders, thus the name.

Dozens of horses were choreographed to perform these movements in time with the music prior to the introduction of the true star of the show, the Haute E’cole or High School or horse schooled to the highest level.

With that spectacle over, all eyes were directed to the highest-ranking equestrian performer of all. Classic horsemanship movements, the result of years of training and rehearsal, were then demonstrated to the audience. Passage, piaffe; high trot, march, canter changes, even the backwards canter with one elevated foreleg. These remarkable movements qualify as poetic and gymnastic and share the echelon populated by opera, ballet, orchestra and Shakespeare virtuosos. I had recently witnessed this rich tradition at Chuck Grant’s farm and my creative mind began to dream bigger dreams.

I had been saving my money during season 1975 to buy Bob Grubb’s horse “Bingo,” a Buckskin Tobiano Paint Horse with spectacular markings. Standing at 15.2 hands, his stocky quarter horse frame would provide me with a handsome steed. When the season was over, the riding lessons with Clarence gave me a foundation for beginning. Now back at the fairgrounds in Hugo, the time came for the purchase and to begin to learn how to work my new horse. I started learning another circus act.

With my six-pony liberty act, I had created a wonderful career with a promising future. Once the startup hurdle was over, the animals became seasoned performers. This package was perfect in many ways. The magnitude of work to get to this place had been rewarding and the experience would help me in ways I would realize later. Now the business of having this pony act settled into finding opportunities to perform on a regular basis and the ongoing maintenance on the road.

Another aspect that made this small business perfect was that I had options other animal handlers did not have. For extended periods I could place them on pasture during the off season, freeing me to pursue other opportunities. I actually credit these ponies with making me a better sign painter. No matter what, they kept right on eating. That motivated me ongoingly to find and secure sign work.

Now I was adding a Manege horse to the lineup. I still had plenty to learn about this genre of horsemanship. The success of this enterprise required developing relationships with others. Networking within the circus industry is how one kept an act booked. Established circus families had strong connections that resulted from many generations of activity. The upper echelon of circus performers was a close-knit family that trusted only time-honored generational links to the industry. I was the new guy and because of my childhood I was reluctant.

During the five years I provided the palomino liberty act to big top circuses, the most I ever worked in one season was twenty-seven weeks. Compared to the lucrative experiences enjoyed at the beginning of my career, the pay I received for this attractive collection of performing ponies did not match the investment.

I had been lucky right out of high school with Mel Silverlake, who wanted my creative skills. I had been in the right place at the right time, landing a lucrative role with his show. I had not learned several valuable social lessons in this industry. My mind was always on, but I was lost in the creative realm of visualizing more of what I wanted. I hadn’t developed an interest in others. Booking employment for horse acts and negotiating pay required skills and knowledge I did not possess. I was taken advantage of by shrewd producers and selfish circus owners. I was an outsider, not coming from a circus family. This promoted a skepticism and an aloofness that I didn’t understand or know how to break through. But it didn’t seem to stop me. I added a horse to my line up.

Perhaps the writing was on the wall in regard to horses in the circus of the future. Regardless, I continued with my plans to become bigger and better than ever. I had found another way to thrive. I was fortunate that when the ponies were loose on pasture I could chase and secure sign painting to do.

As Bob showed me how to make my new horse bow, stretch, kneel and march. I utilized the riding skills that Clarence had taught me. I began to speak the language to my horse that came through my seat, hands and attitude from the saddle.

Bob continued to teach me how to get this new horse through the paces each morning. Each morning our routine was to practice with supervision, covering all the movements. Then rehearsing a possible routine, striving to maintain the proper posture and attitude the whole time.

While learning the lay-down starting with a kneel, from where the horse would roll down onto his side, I had to make sure to keep my leg away from his side as he laid over, or else I would become pinned to the ground with a half-ton laying on my leg. I was taught to hold my left leg out when the barrel of the horse became steeply inclined, and this became instinctive.

After an intense session Bob would encourage me to go on a leisurely ride around town and along the country roads to get familiar with my horse and to give him a quiet reward. I had grandiose ambitions and while immersed in this learning curve, I would also find out there was a lot to love with having a horse. A horse is a magnificent and wiling animal and the reason that mankind has been able to accomplish so much throughout history. Once the horse understands what is being asked, he is willing to comply. He develops a work ethic that is directly related to the consistency of the rider or trainer, forcing an honesty to the surface. Results don’t lie.

June 20, 2025

Beverly

As a member of the circus audience in her hometown in northern Michigan, I caught her eye from the bandstand three years earlier. Beverly was a tall, longhaired beauty. After tear down that night, an evening of petting initiated our mutual interest in each other. We became pen pals, requiring her to be diligent about writing back to the address I always included of our future destination.

I experienced a sensation that I had never noticed before. The whole world seemed to glow as I went through my established routine. The tasks seemingly fell away, and my usual particular attention to detail seemed fortified with a joyous regard and enthusiastic zeal. The faces of the patrons seemed to have a glow all to themselves too. I just knew they could see it too. This sensation expanded throughout the summer ahead and seemed to lighten any load and fuel me with zeal for whatever was in front of me.

She had a summertime job working for a man with a tourist shop that made souvenirs out of Petoskey stone, a regional geologic phenomenon. Millions of years ago, ocean bottom corals were abundant in this area. Over time the precise pattern similar to a honey comb became imbedded in stone. Now these stones are abundant in this area of Michigan. To make souvenirs the stone is first sliced into thin pieces that reveal the precise pattern and polished. Then the thin sheets are carefully cut by hand into interesting shapes to be made into earrings, pendants and the like. The most popular shape is the outline of the state of Michigan. This is what Bev did. Sitting at the bench with a special saw, a variety of shapes were cut out of the stone and made into merchandise that was also on sale in the shop.

At the end of that season, I had several projects to tackle. I spent the winter at my parent’s home outside of Chicago and built my camper that would also house my drumming bandstand. I was most anxious to show off my handiwork to Beverly.

After the completion of my camper late winter, I drove up to see her and meet her family. Her father had built an A-frame home in a lovely setting in the woods outside Traverse City. I was introduced to music I hadn’t heard before; Seals & Crofts, Cat Stevens and Carol King, and their backwoods lifestyle. We enjoyed an evening of snowmobiling and togetherness prior to my heading south to a warmer climate. Our correspondence continued. As a result, she stayed abreast of my aspirations and adventures on the circus. Our communication covered a variety of interests and spanned our infrequent visits.

One benefit of the tented circus going broke earlier in the year and my hooking up with the Voorheis Circus was that I would be performing in her proximity twice more that year. I couldn’t wait for her to see these ponies. When the show played near her home, I anticipated her visit. I was so proud, standing in the truck, ankle deep in hay, with my beloved ponies. When she arrived, Beverly instantly fell in love with these cute yellow beings and spent the entire afternoon and evening with them, brushing, primping and pouring out affection and love. I saw something special in her that night that validated the warmth that had been growing inside me. I asked her to join me and come along. We could be a family. Her, Superdog, the ponies and myself.

We had a wonderful time together during that visit. The ponies performed flawlessly. She appreciated the level of ability we had achieved. Too soon, the time came for me to head out to the next town. For reasons I may never know, Beverly did not join me on that itinerate pursuit. Our letters continued, but began to wither as my travels and ambitions took me farther and farther away.

At the conclusion of that season, I headed to Clarklake, picked up the rest of the ponies and began the trip to Hugo. I was learning one of the first of several lessons about how this rigorous lifestyle is jealous of any other love. Being in love and not knowing what to do would be replaced with a clear career path. For now, my mind and all of my energy was occupied. I had a big dream and much to do. I became completely immersed in all that was in front of me.

May 23, 2025

Circus Voorheis

The relentless pace of one day stands on a big top circus can switch from the regular rhythm in a moment, into a turbulent situation for an ever expanding list of reasons. Like all aspects of nature, show business is involved in an evolution. At one time, circus acts shared the theatric venue called vaudeville. Entertainment changed with the advent of motion pictures and the displaced acts either evolved or died. Change is constant. I was in the midst of learning the lessons that come from upheaval from the solution I had found at the beginning of the year, having turned into a dead end. Having found an alternative, scrambled to embrace this new opportunity, but was to find it was not without additional demands for change.

The first season with the beginnings of my young liberty act were not immune to trouble. As the animals became familiar with the chaos of working in front of an audience and became consistent with their routine, other factors interrupted our momentum. After the whirlwind experience of being on the Barnes & Dailey Circus that folded mid season, getting the livestock relocated, racing to get equipped by buying a truck, selling the camper and getting the new rig racked to haul all my circus equipment, prior to landing a five week contract with my three pony liberty act in the fall of 1974, I arrived in a parking lot of a high school in a small town north of Detroit. I was glad to find work.

My tour on Circus Voorheis provided my first experience of performing with an indoor venue. I was to learn several distinctions exist from the grass lot big top version of doing one day stands, here on a school house circus.

The first difference was the footing for the ponies on the gymnasium floor. A school house circus was perfect for unicycle, roller skate and juggling acts that suffer on a bumpy dirt lot, but the slick floor was a detriment to my pony act. I had to invest in Celetex or Homosote sheeting to lay on the gym floor under the canvas ring mat to provide proper footing for the ponies. This is a thick insulating board made from a loose cardboard-like material.

This circus was different in other ways too. Since each gym had bleachers, none of the big top or seating equipment used on a mud show was necessary. The show only had to carry props, lighting, sound and concessions. We also had a different daily routine. The show was not welcome at the building until school let out. Rather than enjoy the daily camaraderie I was used to on a tent show, here between towns everyone was on their own. With different needs, the various trucks and trailers of the staff and performers were parked hap-hazard at shopping plaza parking lots and various other convenient places to wait until the school building became available. I had entered a new realm of entertainment. With my reclusive pattern of identifying problems, creating solutions and accomplishing things on my own, this new itinerate routine was quickly adopted.

My immediate daily needs along the route were for water and a place to dispose of manure, so truck stops and remote areas became frequented and fertilized. I had livestock to tend to, so I sought grassy places on which to put my picket line and let my three ponies graze each morning and enjoy some sunshine. The rest of the time they lived in the truck. Hay mangers were rigged inside with cross ties so they could live just like in the barn back at Hugo.

I had to be one of the first ones at the building each day when school let out, to get my celetex floor in the gym. Because of this, my truck was typically parked next to one of the gym doors. First, I would carry all the pieces of Celetex sheeting inside and arrange them on the floor. This was then covered by the prop crew with the ring mat. The ring curb was then added along with the lighting, sound, and props for the rest of the acts.

The experience of working the rookie pony act on a gym floor each day had one attractive aspect when, one day Tex decided to jump out of the ring. In his defiant scramble for freedom he discovered the floor was slick, and that he had no control. In the midst of his forward momentum outside of the ring, he lost footing and fell to his butt sliding into a pile of props. Gently, I stopped the other two and went to get Tex, kindly guiding him back into the ring. He never jumped out of the ring again.

Aerial acts that enjoyed the ease of existing rigging in the big top had a different challenge here. On a daily basis they had to find suitable places in the ceiling or rafters to secure their rigging. Doing this rigging overhead was a daily challenge dependant on whatever opportunity existed. Because we set up when school let out, last minute preparations were still taking place as the first show crowd arrived.

Once the ring was ready, the time came to primp and groom these pretty yellow ponies and get them ready for the show. This activity took place in the truck along with the harnessing. Horses really are wonderful animals. I remain impressed with their willingness. I had a concern about the ponies pooping while we were in the building, something that would be both inconvenient and embarrassing. Other circus animals were conditioned to poop prior to performing. I learned about a way to promote their bowel movement for the sake of cleanliness and adopted this technique at the beginning of my tour.

The harnessing procedure prior to each performance began with laying the apparatus across the back of one of the ponies. All of the features of the harness were then convenient. The headstall was hung on one of the check reins, martingale on the other, and the back band that lead to the crupper hung alongside the kidney drops. The first step was to lift the tail and carefully put the crupper in place. Then the girth is secured by reaching underneath and grasping the belly band and threading the strap through the buckle and pulling it tight. At this point, early in the tour, I took an eyedropper filled with mineral oil, inserted and squirted the contents into the anus. Soon thereafter, the bowels promoted elimination right there in the truck. I only had to do this procedure for four days in a row to condition the desired response. From that point on, all I had to do was lay the harness on their back and they knew it was time to poop

I was not needed to play the drums here on this show because Colonel Bill Voorheis was the drummer. On a tent show I could listen for the music going on and by recognizing the tune, know which act was taking place. Now on this show, the music was contained within the walls of the gymnasium, so a quick hike to peek in the side door was required. When I knew what portion of the show was going on, I could be ready in time for my turn to go in and perform.

When the time loomed near for my act and the ponies were ready and standing in the truck, I would quickly change into my costume. I wore straight leg, vertical stripe, high waist tuxedo pants with boots. This combination accentuated my height and made the ponies look smaller. A ruffled tuxedo shirt with bow tie and a jacket with claw hammer tails completed the look. I would grab my pointer whip and lash whip and guide each pony down the ramp from the truck, one at a time. Soon I was standing next to the building, ready to go on with three palomino ponies with red leather harness and feather plumes at my side, hooked together with come-alongs. When the whistle blew and the door was opened, our entrance promoted oohs and aahs from all in attendance. The quick paced animal presentation provided contrast from all the other acts that were predominantly performing people accomplishing a variety of athletic, balance and dexterity feats. All the other acts except one.

A man with a clean converted bread truck with an eight ball mounted on the front and a travel trailer hooked on behind had a baby elephant and three kids. When he entered the gymnasium with baby “Tika,” accompanied by his gorgeous red-head daughter, this elephant was on her hind legs, walking towards the ring prior to their entertaining routine. Since Smokey and I had the only performing animals on the show, aside from a magician with poodles in his act, I naturally gravitated towards this man and his enterprise. I was to find, not only a common interest of animal training that became a passionate topic of discussion between us but also access to the foundation of his personal philosophy that would positively imprint my soul.