life – Letterfly Writes

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.