life – Letterfly Writes

March 6, 2026

Finding Shiloh

The bare trees of the Midwest grappled a gray sky and fields lay dormant, dusted white and cold. Soon Illinois also disappeared from beneath my tires. While driving across Missouri I realized this was Christmas Eve. All that I knew was that my parents had found a haven in the Ozarks and had assured me there was a place for me and my stuff.

After driving all night, I arrived in the little town where my parents were supposed to be early on Christmas day. I found the place called Shiloh in a large limestone building had been a hotel at one time. I saw people going into the large building. Upon entering I found the dining area filled with people and found out my parents were out of town. This community in Sulphur Springs, a charismatic Christian commune was receptive.

I was immediately welcomed. After explaining my predicament, I was taken out to their farm where the ponies were unloaded and turned loose. Then I returned to the main building and was fed the first of many wholesome meals.

The following day, my parents returned to that little town. I was filled with a deep sense of shame mixed with elation at seeing them. After being reunited, they shared the sequence of events that occurred that led them to this special place.

Shiloh originated as a group of men who fought together during WWII under a charismatic commander. When the war was over they wanted to continue living, worshiping and working together. One of the men was a baker, so they decided to start baking nutritious bread as a livelihood. While they studied spiritual practices and found ways to be of service to others they attracted others. The community expanded.

They were on the leading edge of the emerging health awareness through nutrition and natural food consciousness. Shiloh developed a big bakery operation and a distribution system for natural foods with their fleet of trucks.

My parents became part of this special community. Impressed with what was going on here, my parents decided to settle near this community and build their retirement home. For now, they occupied a bedroom in one of the many family homes. A large stone building downtown had an attic I could use for storage and a place for my bunk.

In those days Shiloh was a bustling center of communal family style activity populated with three-hundred people from babies all the way through to the elderly. The early morning lifestyle I was accustomed to existed here to albeit with a completely different look. Book study began at 6:30. They had secured a manuscript – revolutionary at the time – called ‘A Course in Miracles.’ The book study was followed by an impressive breakfast. Then the time arrived to tackle the day’s duties.

An interesting cross section of society frequented these early morning sessions. I became friends with a variety of them. Among them was a man named Robert, a quiet calculating man about my age who had found this place as the result of serendipity. He confided to me he was searching for something. He filled his days with spiritual research, contemplation and service.

With the ponies loose on their large farm and the remnants of my operation in storage, I began to wonder how I was going to continue my career as a showman without a truck. That wreck crippled my ability to be on any show. With two acts and other talents without a rig, I had zero options for the near future. The reconstruction of my ability to resume my career would take well over a year.

Billy Griffin had been on Fisher Bros Circus and later on Barnes and Dailey Circus when I was there. Now he was in the office of the Clyde Beatty Cole Bros Circus and suggested that I come to Florida and go to work. They needed a 24-hour man, the man who worked one day in advance of the show, who laid out the lot, railed the road and spotted the rigs as they arrived at the show grounds. Perhaps this job could be a stepping stone I could manage while in this predicament but not a career destination.

After being immersed in the commune lifestyle for several months, I thanked my new friends at Shiloh, bid the ponies’ goodbye and packed light for my trip with Superdog. With my thumb up while standing on the side of the road, I headed towards the next logical chapter of my life.

February 26, 2026

Smith Falls

The aftermath of the wreck became a series of attempts. My wardrobe, props, equipment would need to stay dry. The calliope had been damaged in the wreck. I could store this stuff in a barn at the fairgrounds where the show stored their fleet. What I considered to be valuable were the sketch books of my inspired drawings produced along the road. I asked Al Stencell to take them home for safe keeping. He knew they would not fare well in the dusty barn. My beloved sketch books went with him.

I had been discarded by the circus with no means of moving ponies and equipment. Fortunately, I began to meet a series of Canadian people who helped me. First, a man with a small stable for trotting horses allowed me to keep my livestock in a paddock at his place for a while. A hard drinker himself, I joined him on adventures of going to the trotting track. This man and his horses revealed another interesting facet of the horse industry to me.

The situation at the trotting barn was temporary and he knew a couple with a larger farm south of town. After hitchhiking to meet this couple and explaining my predicament, I found a warm reception. Soon my livestock was in a stock trailer on the way to their farm in the country. This was in an area of rolling, wooded countryside. An enormous wooden barn commanded the center of their sprawling complex. The horse and ponies immediately enjoyed this expanse of still, green pasture. With them loose on this farm, I was freed to make other attempts.

I slept in the truck parked at the fairgrounds at first. Getting my equipment safe and monitoring the livestock required lots of walking and hitchhiking. While walking through town, during a happenstance meeting on the street, I met a smiling, curly long-haired young fellow with an attractive girlfriend. I must have seemed out of place and he was curious and proactive. After hearing my tale of circumstance, he opened up and offered to help. He lived in an apartment over a store downtown. Soon thereafter, I became part of his circle of friends. Pete became my closest ally as I went through this difficult time.

I was learning lessons about human nature. When someone goes through an unfortunate episode in their life, others do as in nature and the injured is pecked to death. I had been discarded, left to figure out this predicament on my own. Pete was a godsend. Perhaps even a good Samaritan.

Just having an audience to explain my predicament allowed inspiration for solutions to occur. Plus, I was out on the street in a foreign country. I was powerless. As Pete welcomed me into his home, a turning point in how I viewed humanity occurred. With cold weather coming fast, I was running out of money. He had regard for my situation. I took Pete up on his offer of a warm couch.

The condition of the wrecked truck seemed hopeless to drive the distance I had to go. Instead of attempting to make it road worthy, I became involved in salvaging all I could and store these commodities with the rest of my equipment and belongings. Then, with great reluctance, I took the rig to a nearby junk yard. I asked the man behind the desk to compensate me for whatever value occurred as the parts were sold. I then left my beloved rig behind. I never heard anything from him.

With my equipment secure in a barn, a comfortable couch in a warm apartment, and camaraderie with a boisterous bunch of Ontario youth, I began to pursue possibilities for getting the livestock across the border into Michigan. I hitchhiked south to the farm in the country where my livestock grazed.

First, the couple with the farm wanted to show me some hospitality. We went on a road trip to a nearby drinking establishment. After an evening of music, food, drinking, dancing, laughter and conviviality, they had an announcement. My hosts were planning a trip to take an empty stock trailer to the horse sale at St Johns, Michigan to buy and bring back a load of horses. That meant they could drop off my livestock across the border.

A friend of Clarence Hastings had a farm on the way to that sale in Grass Lake. He made a call and yes, I could have them dropped off there. Now all I had to do was get my livestock health and customs papers in order. I was flabbergasted. This was perfect for getting my livestock to Michigan. I was in luck. I got the papers in order, helped load my ponies and horse in the stock trailer and watched as they pulled out onto the road that headed west.

Next on the agenda was to get my personal stuff and the remaining equipment out of Ontario. I would have to select a destination. My parents had moved from the Chicago suburbs to the suburbs of Kansas City. While they lived there, my having ponies made it difficult to visit for any length of time, although once having a picket line across their manicured lawn did create quite a sensation in the neighborhood. All I knew at this time was that they had moved again. This time into the Ozarks. I suppose I could go there to an unknown destination.

The situation for the livestock in Grass Lake ended up being more temporary than was originally implied. Before I could get the rest of my belongings out of Ontario, I received a strong indication from the farm owner that she wanted me to come get them moved and moved now. This was unfortunate with the sequence I had planned, but matched the tendency of human nature I was finding out about. I had to postpone the attempt to get my load of stuff rolling and attend to this almost impossible task of traveling several hundred miles on foot to move my livestock fifteen miles. My quest was clear although I had no idea how I was going to do this.

I began to hitchhike from up near Ottawa the length of Ontario. I planned to cross the border at Detroit at night and go into Michigan.

Hitchhiking can provide either a seamless trip to the destination, or a series of extended waits in obscure locations while attempting to appeal to a driver. This time my trip was entirely in cold weather. On a positive note, my hitchhiking was facilitated due to my constant companion Superdog. By keeping the white fluffy nature of this American Eskimo spitz attractive, he became a ride magnet.

Although never on a leash while we were on the road with the circus, during these hitchhiking sessions, I carried a long shoe lace to keep him safely secured to my backpack while standing next to the busy highway. I learned to travel light. The front top pockets of my denim jacket carried special cargo. One was filled with sunflower seeds and the other raisins.

During our trip across Ontario and on towards Michigan, we were blessed with plentiful rides until arriving close to Windsor. Late at night, we waited alongside the highway in the dark with large snowflakes swirling all around. After a long, cold wait, one car finally gave us a ride. At the port of entry, we walked across the bridge to the American side in the wee hours.

Detroit was scary. I was grateful when a black man with whisky on his breath finally picked me up and gave me a ride out of the inner city as dawn approached. Once daylight returned I was in familiar country.

Upon arrival at the Wolcott farm, I saw no immediate danger. My erratic host had a litany of reasons why my livestock couldn’t stay. I was able to borrow her stock trailer and a pickup truck. I thanked her for receiving my ponies and horse from my friends in Canada and once loaded, headed toward friendlier territory. Reunited at Hayes farm, the livestock had a safe place to stay for a while.

Once at Hayes home, I caught up on the sleep missed and once refreshed, began to attend to the tasks at hand. Hayes helped me return the truck and stock trailer.

This visit coincided with Thanksgiving. Hayes was busy making his signature dressing. I was invited to stay and join them for dinner later that evening. He agreed to tend to Superdog for a while. With waning warmth outside, at the brink of a long hitchhiking trip back into Ontario ahead of me, I reluctantly declined participating at this most welcome meal and assumed my place on the side of the road with my thumb up. The return trip was a repeat of alternate riding in warmth and standing out in the cold.

When I returned from getting my livestock moved, it was time to retrieve equipment. I returned to the barn where the remains of my operation were stored. The Bogan amp used for my sideshow presentation was missing. It probably showed up mysteriously on the circus the next season. Disbelief accompanied the blend of grief, shame and frustration as I attempted to salvage the remains of my empire. A bigger lesson would follow.

Thank goodness for the friendly reception and the helpful nature of my new friend Pete. He provided a welcome distraction. To this day, I remain grateful for his display of regard. The genuine interest radiated by this fellow human being was an example of being a friend. I sought escape from shame through alcohol. With my new friend, the new distraction was most welcome.

Through Pete, I was introduced to the party culture of Canada. In the center of every Canadian city was a hotel. I was already familiar with this feature in every community from the several circus tours I participated with across several provinces. This was party central. Just a short walk from their apartment was the Smiths Falls Hotel with its large dark area inside for drinking and listening to the rock bands that regularly came to town. I soon became familiar with the cross section of people in attendance, the echelon that partied with the band afterwards and joined in with the insatiable appetite of the crowd that wanted more, more, more. Now I was part of the rebellious youth that flocked to the laughter, excitement, the loud beat, the alcohol and chemistry induced frenzy, seeking mutual self-indulgent emotional peaks, romance and reveling in continual amazing achievements. But this couldn’t last forever.

Up until this time I was too ashamed to call my mother and father to admit what I had done. Two months had gone by and I hadn’t called home. Having run out of options with resources depleted, I called to ask for help. I met enthusiasm. They sent funds which were to be used for my exodus, although a portion went for the riotous living taking place.

In the middle of December, the temperature took a tremendous dip. One morning, some of the guys showed up to take Pete and his roommate Tom with them. They all put on their snow suits and were going to go help a man put up a log cabin outside. I wanted to go but was forbid to leave the apartment because of my lack of winter clothing. This was an indicator of the serious nature of this predicament I was in that motivated me to make my move.

I told the man at the U-Haul store that I needed a truck to move some musical instruments for a rock band from one hotel to another over the weekend. I secured a truck big enough for everything. I then drove the big box truck to the fairgrounds. After loading everything left over from my wrecked rolling monument to circusdom, I left my new friends prior to the threat of more snow and headed for Michigan. I cherish what I had learned and vowed to stay in touch. Retracing the hitchhiking path, I found this form of mobility a big improvement.

I crossed my fingers. I went across the US border at 4 AM. They flagged me on by, without having to stop. I entered my country without hassle. I went straight to Clarklake to see Hayes, where the ponies were lodged. After a good night’s sleep on his couch, I created a bulkhead out of a palette. This created a way to leave the cargo door open on the back for ventilation for the ponies. After loading them in the truck, I began driving toward an unknown destination in Arkansas where my parents were. I left Bingo the horse behind at Hayes farm in Michigan.

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.

September 18, 2025

A Land of Extremes

The show entertained Canadian crowds all across Ontario and the next three provinces with route that went as far north as one could drive. We went west into farm country. Long, straight flat roads sliced through vast fields punctuated with occasional grain elevators. These farms counted size in increments of sections or square miles.

While the Royal Bros Circus enjoyed the vast breadbasket of western Canada curious regional characteristics required adaptation. There were no feed stores. As the show consumed hay and feed, those of us who required these commodities learned to interact with the locals who had vast farms. I learned to keep my empty burlap feed sacks and make my own deal between towns at one of the farms along the way. This is where I could shovel oats from their heap to fill my bags. The procedure as I spied a farm complex was to find the main buildings, pull into the compound, meet the personnel and make my own deal. I learned to keep my feed barrel full. In each province the show went as far north as the roads would take us. We went to remote places where these commodities did not exist.

After hop-scotching around and through this vast flat area, we headed for the northernmost town in Manitoba. Flin Flon is a mining town that grew where the geologic features that are normally deep in the earth are convenient at the surface making the mining of nickel, copper and other valuable minerals relatively easy. Prior to the trip we were warned to have our fuel tanks full because a hundred miles of the trip had no gas stations.

Billy Loter was the grandson of the organist Marie, who I played for as sideman during my Fisher Bros days. He was on the show here in various capacities and we became friends. During leisure time between shows, we adopted a style of making rhythmic sounds using almost nothing except our bodies. We experimented with slapping, clicking, snapping, popping, clapping, stomping and the like, often while walking somewhere. Some of the distant, exotic communities we played with the circus warranted investigation. Flin Flon was no different. After the show was over, we headed for town.

In this curious land of the far north, the surface of the earth had no soil, only rolling boils of solid rock. Because of this no utilities were underground. A curious infrastructure of boxes that contained the electric, water (and steam to keep it warm) utilities linked all the houses and buildings together. Every so often a stair-style led up and over the system of boxes. On our hike we went downtown and among the sights we found was the historic railroad station. While regarding this ancient structure we learned that this manner of transportation was at one time the only way in or out until the highway was built. While there we spied two pedestal steps used to assist passengers on and off the railroad cars. They resembled the pedestals used by many acts on the show.

On our return trip, heading back to the circus lot (the only flat place around where they gathered to play baseball) we took a route that placed us on a high overlook. From this perch we stopped to continue our rhythmic hamboning fun. As we looked down at the web of lights that delineated the streets and dwellings of the town and continued our fun, we became completely captivated in the magical moment. Suddenly in the midst of this merry making, we noticed something different. But as we looked around we couldn’t quite put our finger on what it was. Then the lights of the town came back on. We then realized that we had witnessed a blackout. Confident that the interruption had been caused by our riffs, chops and the ripple effect of our enthusiastic rhythms radiating outward, we vowed to keep the volume down in the interest of being good community stewards.

Bonnie Bonta also clowned on the show. She was an older widow with a circus background. She had a slight misshapen mouth that did not interfere with her enthusiasm. In the cookhouse, I heard her tales about being on shows in the past with her husband and how her son has carried on the tradition with various acts of his own. She had a slight handicap, a hitch in her giddy-up, I guess you’d say, that affected her gait. She drove a tall pickup truck with a camper on the back. The climb getting into the back of the camper was a struggle for her each day. I was able to be a friend and appreciated forever when I gave her one of my pedestals.

The rest of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and finally Alberta slowly crept underneath our tires. The show continued west with the relentless rhythm of up and down through the ever-changing terrain of this vast country with occasional pockets of humanity that became our quarry. Because of our regular routine, there is a zone that all the people on the show get completely immersed in. At the beginning of the season, the metal stakes are rusty, the side poles and seat planks are dusty, and the canvas is musty. Little nuance, like anti-lubrication, seemed to interfere with initial efforts. But with each set up, not only are brain synapses getting connected in virtually every mind with the completion of every task but motor skills merge with instinct to make each successive set up more efficient, approaching what qualifies as a marvel while momentum is established.

Much like being wired during a long drive, the entire psyche of the collective humanity maintains this momentum that only takes the slightest stimuli to alert the body to go forward again. Up early every day to drive to the next town compromises sleep, so a pattern of rest after set up meant a regular quiet time on the show was part of the pulse. We all got quiet in the afternoon prior to the matinee, that is if everything went well.

A long jump or the breakdown of a crucial element of the circus meant redirecting energy to overcome the obstacle first. Then resume the regular rhythm often at the expense of that valuable segment of sleep. Then, between these challenging episodes, during long stretches of the season, all went well. That was what we remember and cherish.

Beautiful weather occurred as we traversed picturesque terrain, arrived at a perfect grass lot, enjoyed a seamless set up. Each nourishing meal in the cookhouse made the showman happy. A good turnout for the afternoon and evening shows with enthusiastic audiences promoted the premise of the quest we were on. With their envy of what we do. They see us traveling, doing amazing things and poring forth enthusiasm in spite of what happens. This is the zone that feeds us. We experience something as a collective living entity that became real one day at a time. With each successive day going forward relentlessly turned into yet another season.

Teamwork is what it takes, yet a flaw existed in the hierarchy here. Typically, when the combined effort of all is perfect and something occurred to reveal the true nature of an individual personality that, up until now, had been wearing a mask. With this close-knit society, there are few secrets. The business partner of the Canadian owner of the show was difficult to read. Using a slick demeanor, he was able to manipulate, handle and fix most beefs that occurred on the lot and was clever enough to repair mechanical malfunctions on demand. Yet there was a reserved reluctance with anyone attempting to be his friend. He maintained a narcissistic obsession with something unseen by holding his cards close and away from everyone.

At the top of the stairs that led to my living quarters, I had created a small area filled with shelves for cigar boxes filled with fastening devices and a small work bench. Here I had my assortment for ongoing building projects. One day rounding the corner of my truck, I found him standing at the top of my stairs with my door open. His head inside and he was helping himself to some screws and bolts. This violation of what was mine was never followed with anything that qualified as cordial. In a silent disbelief I resigned to use caution around his questionable ethics from that point on. He would fortify my concern about his decency as I observed his treatment of others on the show.

My friends, the Michael family had a hiccup in their tour late in august. During the school year, Dennis and Lynnie are assembly program marionette puppeteers in the Chicago area, plus the girls had to be back in school. Near the end of the season, Dennis went to John Frazier to announce that in order to be back in Indiana in time for school they would be leaving prior to the end of the season. John fired them on the spot.

Prior to leaving, Dennis lent me his side show magic tricks and his supply of bird whistles so I could become the magician and sell whistles for the rest of the tour. Being that far west in Alberta with two weeks off turned into the vacation of a lifetime for the Michael family, who then enjoyed a vacation in Yellowstone National Park and a leisurely trip back to Indiana. I enjoyed being the magician in the side show and when the season was over, planned a visit in Indiana to return his magic stuff.

Late in our season, off in the distance the silhouette of rugged Mountains loomed ever closer. We performed in front of Alberta audiences near the foothills of the Rockies until we closed late summer. The plan was to winter the show equipment at a carnival winter quarters in Alberta and have everyone return in the spring to reverse course and troupe back to Ontario.

The Loadstar, originally intended to carry an eighteen-foot box, now supported twenty-four. I kept customizing the rig, adding features that gradually overloaded the truck. I still had a plan to add a horse that weighed 1250 lbs. to my repertoire. As the season came to a close, my plans for the rest of the year were full. Before heading back to Hugo, to become acquainted with my new horse, I had the plan to take riding lessons in Michigan.

At seasons end, the long trip east included driving through a blizzard that slowed my drive across Montana. By the time I made it to Wisconsin. the truck was running on five cylinders. I limped in to the International dealer in Janesville on a Sunday and put the ponies out on their lawn with the picket line.

Monday morning, I had the valve covers off the engine and saw several broken valve rockers. I went to the parts man inside and explained my predicament. I could only afford to buy the parts I needed and put them on myself. They had none of what I needed in stock but they did let me take some rockers off another engine in the shop to get me going.

What motivated their decision was the ponies eating their lawn. Once I was able to load up and head east, the first stop was to see the Michael family in Indiana. Then I headed to Michigan to visit Hayes and start my riding career.

That winter, while preparing to perform with my new horse act, I built my own magic props and planned to add a magical talking rubber chicken act to my side show repertoire for the upcoming season. There is always something else.

August 15, 2025

The Liberty Act

Normally, with a six-pony liberty act on a circus, handling getting in and out of the tent with its many backyard obstacles is facilitated with two assistants. Usually, two people leading two ponies each, help the trainer with his two, and safely handle this task. True to my self-sufficient nature, I figured out how to never need any assistance from anyone helping handle my pony act. I utilized the system of “come alongs” learned from Bob, which linked each pony to the preceding one. Using calm repetition, they learned to stay in a single file line and get through the many obstacles as I oversaw their effort. During the introductory announcement by Corky the ringmaster of Royal Bros Circus, we made our way inside the big top, and then into the ring. I would then have them stand at the back of the ring, unhook the “come alongs,” and start the act with all of them truly “at liberty.” Our act began at once.
Gesturing “Lead off,” they would start to run around the ring. After several revolutions, the time came for a change of course or a complete reverse of direction for this single file line of yellow ponies within the ring. This involves my signal and a quick change of position in the ring, that blocked forward movement and encouraged them to come toward and then away from me. As the group threads their way around me, they run in this new direction for a while. After a few laps, I would have them reverse again and encourage them into being six abreast, or what is called the spoke of a wheel. This involves the lead pony at the outside perimeter cantering very fast and the tail pony near the center, next to me, walking very slowly. After the six abreast, it was time to single them out once again, and at the back of the ring, bring them to a halt.
Consistent behavior is what they understand best. The structural language of gesture, maintaining a calm emotional condition and consistent body language is key to maintaining healthy communication with a horse. With the repetition of two shows a day, they became comfortable responding correctly to my cues as I guided them. Among what I oversaw to insure harmony were influences of individual speed; slow one down or catch another one up. By far the most important movement to maintain is to have the ability for them to stop at the back of the ring and face me. All these responses are reinforced with consistent body language.
I had been reading some new age main stream spiritual literature by Carlos Castaneda and as the result was inspired to utilize positive mental imagery to influence the outcome of each performance with the ponies. Each day while standing in the backyard waiting for my time to go in, I would close my eyes and visualize the entire routine occurring flawlessly in my mind.
The first season touring with six ponies was not without challenges. Among the distractions around the Royal Bros Circus in Canada was when the sidewall was hoisted up on a hot day and the view of the spacious outdoors proved tempting to the filly, who became noted for jumping out of the ring. Since he had been trained to follow her, little Finley often joined her as she ran around the interior of the tent while the show as going on. My being a perfectionist with esteem issues, taking the behavior of a pony personally – as evidence of failure – wanting to provide only a flawless performance, had set me up for an endless source of frustration.
When a pony made a mistake, due to the dynamic of behavior, typically the same mistake would occur at the same place in the routine the next time the act was on. Rehearsing between shows was only partly good. The stock soon became wise to the fact that without an audience, they would have to comply or do an extended rehearsal. They became what is known as “crowd wise,” that meant I had to become an effective trainer during our act in front of the audience. As a hot headed teenager with an inferiority complex, I took any aspect of what the ponies did personally. Fortunately, as the season progressed, so did the ponies.
The original three ponies, with a season under their girth, were a steadfast influence to the three green ponies. Jumper was a new pony third in line. Due to the unwavering nature of the two in front of him, he became steadfast and consistent. Tex was the cut back pony moved from position three in the line up to number four. Tex was ideal in this role. The cut back is where the last three ponies reverse direction while the first three maintain their counterclockwise momentum. His long back, stout physique and somewhat simple mind had learned concisely what he was to do when asked that also coalesced into a do or die attitude. Whenever I asked for the cut back he was quick to comply. Once he had the concept he was unstoppable. After the cut back I would single them out once again. After another revolution, at the back of the ring, I would bring them to a halt.
While styling for applause in front of my standing group, the prop man would set the hurdle at the front of the ring. I had fashioned this hurdle using two pair of hames. Hames are a two-piece structure used with pulling harness that goes over each side of the horse collar that has the trace straps attached. I had found two fancy metal pairs with brass knobs on the top. They were welded crisscrossed for the hurdle jacks, with an opening on the ends for a 2X4 suspended between, that provided the bar for them to jump. When the hurdle was in the ring I would tell the standing ponies to “lead off” and as before in single file, they would all begin to run around the ring and go up to the hurdle and jump over, all except the tail pony. Finley appeared to be mischievously avoiding the hurdle although he had been trained that way. Another round and all the ponies would jump again… all except Finley, who by this time had captured the attention of the audience. My exaggerated gestures and feigned frustration at his defiance got a laugh. Finally, the third time around, I am shaking my finger at him and he finally makes the jump and gets a big hand. The fourth and final time the whole group goes over the hurdle and he gets away with avoiding it one last time to get a laugh. I line up and halt the group at the back of the ring, and then style, and take a bow.
Next, one by one, I ask them to begin to walk and turn away from me and go toward the ring curb. One at a time they mount the curb with their front feet. By carefully placing one foot over the other, they proceed to travel the entire perimeter walking around the entire ring, two fore feet on the curb, both back feet on the ground. Once they have traversed the entire circumference of the ring and are all poised at the back, still mounted on the curb, I take a style and get a big hand.
        I next gesture for them to come off the curb and they single out at a brisk pace in contrast to the recently completed slow portion of the routine. Once again they are running around the ring. When conditions are right, I gesture for them to waltz, which is to turn 360° within their own length. Each pony has a different vantage point to observe my cue from. The lead pony is off my port side, the tail pony my starboard side and the rest are at various points in-between. As I gesture, which is a step forward and backward with a sweeping signal of the whips, each pony has a different reference angle to observe this body language that means something to him. Simultaneously they all do a turn in their own length. After several successful waltzes, I allow the first five to continue circling around the ring as I call the tail pony, Finley to join me in the center of the ring. He comes to me, and once at my side, I ask him to lay down, sit up and after the get up, ask him to bow. Once these specialties of his are complete, he resumes his position at the end of the rest, still running around the ring.
       The conclusion of the act takes place as I halt the group at the back of the ring. Once they are all facing me, I ask for the rear. This cue has me first, making sure that I have their attention, and then sharply moving toward them with the command “hup.” Simultaneously they stood up, straight as a candle, and then came back down to the ground. I then turned toward the audience and ran to the front of the ring. The ponies were following right behind me, encouraged by a helper behind them. I leapt over the ring curb directly in front of the patrons in the front row and as I did, the ponies mounted the ring curb with their front feet. This was the final salute, an opportunity for the final bow in the midst of thunderous applause. I took my bow. Then the time came for me to re-attach my “come alongs” between each of them. Once intact, I would hold the lead pony, encourage the rest to back off of the curb, and the lead them single file through the center of the ring towards the exit of the tent.
       A liberty act takes a couple of seasons of repetition before they work consistently. The summer of 1975 in Canada on the circus was the perfect place for this exposure and training to prepare me for my ambition of bigger and better circus opportunities in the future. That is, if nothing went wrong.

April 15, 2025

A New Role

The observation of the liberty horse training process and my role as assistant each morning in the dusty ring barn at the Hugo fairgrounds as Bob Grubb trained my liberty pony act during the winter of 1973-74 proved to be a valuable prerequisite to not only understanding this performing art form but would also benefit relationship skills in other arenas. After only six weeks, the pony act was complete to the point that I was ready to assume my training to learn working them in the ring.

Out of the original ponies brought to Hugo, four began the training process and three worked out nicely. One pony appeared similar to the others in the first batch purchased for my circus act but by the time he was a yearling he hadn’t grown into a picture of health. Bob recognized some aptitude when the training of each individual began but when they were combined into a group of four, little Teddy didn’t have the energy to keep up with the rest of the group that lapped and ran into him from behind. Teddy proved to be too frail and without the energy to keep up with the rest. His training was discontinued even though he was willing. Something in his eyes communicated the desire that existed in his heart. He wanted to participate but because he seemed frail we discontinued using him in the training for the act. In the midst of this daily routine, a man came to see me. Manual King invited me to go with him and eat a meal at Vets Café downtown. While we ate, I learned that he had a snake show that toured with Carson and Barnes circus and that he wanted an elaborate front painted on it. I was already busy with my pony act so he had to so some real talking to get me interested in going with him to his winter quarters near Houston in Pearland, Texas to tackle this project. The only time I could fit an undertaking like this into my schedule was immediately, over the upcoming Christmas holidays. Manuel, who had a golden, persuasive voice and a beaming personality made the proposition attractive to me. Soon thereafter, with a minimum of painting supplies and my bag packed, I rode with him and his family on the long trip to his home. On the trip I learned that Manuel’s claim to fame was being the youngest lion trainer of all time, starting as an eight year old performer on his father’s circus. His father also imported animals and performers to America and Manuel still recruited acts for Carson & Barnes Circus from Mexico.

When we got to his home, I found the snake show set up in his backyard. As we looked it over, Manuel shared an embryonic idea for me to develop. There was no hesitation. Although I had never tackled such a massive undertaking in my life before, confidence carried me forward making up for the void of lack of experience. I dreamt up my concept, drew a sketch that was met with his approval, and over the successive days, the themed front began to materialize as my brush did its magic. “Princess Xochile” the Aztec Goddess was soon pictured alongside the title of the show. The central image was the scene of an Aztec pyramid being squeezed by an enormous python. While working on this project, I was made part of the family. Due to my being with them over the holidays, I was introduced to a new tradition; the Mexican style of Christmas. Special foods, customs, lots of tamales and other ethnic specialties filled these days with a new experience. This was my first Christmas away from my family and the tradition I had grown up with. This exposure was rich. The love, excitement and delicious abundance that abounded in their home remain a cherished memory. After the holidays, with the show front complete, Manuel gave me a ride back to Hugo. Then it was time to resume learning my act. Back in Hugo, the daily morning repetition became a consistent routine with the ponies, something that would remain constant from this point on as I morphed into my role for the road. My afternoons were free and the nearby winter quarters of Carson & Barnes Circus received a positive report from Manuel and also became interested in my ability as an artist. They brought me their office trailer for extensive decoration. I laid out and painted the shows masthead and extensive scrollwork on the exterior, and near the office windows, painted diagrams of the interior of the big top on either side along with the ticket prices. As the spring of the year loomed on the horizon, my days became full of preparations for the season ahead but with my new liberty act there was still much to do. In true show business fashion, the season opening occurs before being completely ready.

May 24, 2024

The Move

During the years of evolving in his profession in Springfield, Ohio, my dad became aware of how rapid graphic technology was developing. Changes were taking place with photography, film making, sound technology and education. His beloved boss was retiring and that would change his position in the hierarchy. He recognized a possible opportunity. He desired additional education to augment his skills with new audio-visual knowledge. That meant change.

The family moved to Bloomington, Indiana as I entered junior high school. Dad attended classes at Indiana University. The move into a compact home in a neighborhood with a dense population of kids also required us to ride a bus to school.

Moving away from the environs of childhood in Ohio at a tender age, we had to make new friends in another town. This disruption frustrated our meager attempts to fit in. The home situation remained frustrating and my sister and I realized being associated with John was a detriment. As we advanced through the grades, we formulated a way to stay far away from him and be safe. When Paula and I passed one another in the hall at junior high school, rather than acknowledge each other, we remained anonymous in an effort to avoid the risk of association. We would resume being fast friends at home in safety.

At that time, I was on fire to become a good drummer. The music department at IU provided me with an opportunity to take lessons from a great drumming college student. After my junior high school classes each Thursday, I went over to the IU campus to take my lesson. Afterwards I met dad, who was working in the graphics lab. He would show me what he was doing with photography and sometimes set me up in an empty darkroom with an enlarger and show me how to make my own prints.

By this time my circus producing abilities matured. By summer I would put on an even larger production, adopting the name my dad and his friend Fred used many years ago; Spark Circus.

I began building cages for chickens, rabbits and the turtles I accumulated. While I painted promotional signs, Paula began making hats and necklaces out of packing peanuts and paper bowls. The neighborhood kids were curious about what we were doing and were recruited one by one to help. Soon we had two crews; the boys helping me with manly activities and the girls making prize and craft items under Paula’s watchful eye.

The masculine duties were pounding stakes into the ground and setting up and climbing the center pole we erected in the backyard. Stretching a rope tight enough to walk across became a challenge that required accumulating ever larger stretching-devices. We practiced Indian dancing routines, acrobat tumbling and hanging upside-down from the trapeze bar on the swing-set. We rehearsed these acts until we achieved an admirable level of perfection.

During the girl’s production of a mountain of prizes, Paula would pause to rehearse one of the skits she created. We had learned about skits on family vacation. The Lutheran church had a family summer camp near Lakeside, Ohio. While there, mom and dad would compose a clever skit and the entire family would act it out in front of the others. Paula had begun writing stories in her Pinfoot the Pony comics. Now inspired by our family vacation skits, she created routines for her peers to perform.

One routine Paula created for our circus utilized a chorus line of her girls pointing in rhythm, one at a time, and then changing their pose and repeating a cute-over-there dialog that ended with all of them falling in a heap.

Thanks to an abundance of Beatle wigs and a neighbor kid with a buzz haircut, the circus had a barber shop skit that began with a very furry head and ended up with a faux surprised kid with a bald noggin.

All this rehearsing united us on circus day when, like a real show, all of our equipment and our big top (a converted army surplus parachute) was marched, carried or pulled to the vacant lot next to the local swimming pool to be set up. We arranged the set-up to occur in the morning by our team of kids, followed by presenting five shows. The activity brought the entire neighborhood together. My circus benefited the community pool and produced a considerable profit for my investment. It also gave me the idea for a career path to pursue.