Coos Bay, Circus Travels 5

Our second location was Coos Bay, Oregon, about 16 miles from Coquille. It was a pretty town, very green. The rivers were full of logs, thousands of them, and flowers were everywhere. It was still quite cold, intermittently cloudy and sunny. Being from southern California, to us, it seemed incredibly cold for May. "I didn't know Oregon was so close to the North Pole," grumbled Jim, zipping up his jacket. Mine was already zipped, and I had found a scarf in one of the pockets that I didn't know was there, and wrapped it cozily around my neck. "If it gets cloudy and stays that way, I'll be looking for snow," I shuddered. I kept my hands jammed in my pockets for warmth, because of course we didn't have gloves.

We arrived at the high school about 12:30, and began taking things over to the gym, and setting up drums, amps, speakers, and George's Cordovox. This was an ingenious instrument, an electronic accordian, that could sound like several instruments playing at once. George was a master at it.

The trapeze artist, Taddeus Beran, was attaching his swing, and a long rope ladder, to the ceiling. He was announced grandly for his act as "Taddeus Beran!", but in real life everybody affectionately called him Teddy. He was handsome, but not stuck up, great to work with, and all the other performers liked him. He was cooperative and always ready to help. As we drew close to where he was, he was attaching a chair to the side of his swing. "What's that for?" asked Jim, "So you can take a break?" "You'll see." Teddy examined his knot, and gave the chair an experimental tug. The knot held.

Circus performers get very good at knots of all kinds, because their lives depend on them. They have to attach trapezes and swings to whatever attachment happens to be available in each different location. The roofs of the gymnasiums in the various places where the circus performed, were seldom the same height as the one before, and also, there were not always safe or convenient attachments for their rigging. Yet somehow they always worked it out. Over and over, I was impressed by their patience, their perseverance, and their endless ability to solve new problems.

"Princess" Elena Omar, who had the intriguing act in which she appeared to be balancing on one finger, was practicing part of her routine, and her husband, Paco, was setting up her equipment with the help of a couple of young roustabouts. The act required a stand, so she would be visible to all the audience, and some peripheral equipment, including the mandolin she played while standing on her head. She had a fiery disposition, and often got into spats, but was a real trouper. Nothing could keep her from performing.

Rudy, the ringmaster, was wandering around overseeing things, and, as we went by, was showing a young roustabout how to balance a pole on his chin. Rudy told me that his family owned circuses in Europe for nine generations, so he knew how to do almost anything that had to do with a circus. Also, he said he was a painter, a sculptor, and played several instruments, including the guitar. When I saw him twirling a rope I said, "You mean you can do that, too?" "Oh yes," he kept his rope twirling, "Will Rogers, Jr. taught me how. I've never used it in an act, but it's fun to do."

The little Polish boy I noticed at Coquille, was the son of one of the performers in the perch-pole act. He came up to me at Coos Bay during the show and said, "Hi!" looking at me with intense blue eyes. "What's you're name?" I asked. "My name is Machek, and I'm real strong!" He proudly demonstrated his tiny biceps.

In addition to the clown we met on the first day at Coquille, there was a young couple, rather new at being clowns, but quite good. The husband was the real beginner, but definitely had the feeling for it.  Both of them kept improving all the time as the circus went on.  The older clown was the main one, and had been with the circus since Betty Reid's mother had it--about seven years in all.

The smell of popcorn pervaded everything as we waited for the circus to start. People--adults, children, and babes in arms--oozed steadily in the doors carrying balloons, popcorn, and cotton candy. The circus people told me that the money actually is in the concessions. Many of the performers work concessions before the show and at intermission.

Before the performance at Coos Bay, I took pictures of kids taking the elephant ride. It looked like so much fun, I was jealous! Some of the youngsters were excited and happy, and seemed to enjoy every minute of being up on an elephant, but some were afraid of being so high above the ground, and held on for dear life, not even able to manage a smile, and looking apprehensive as the elephant walked slowly around in a small circle, carefully guided by Gary, the trainer.

In the musical session before the performance, while the stands were filling, Jim sang "After the Lovin'," and did a great job. I was impressed. So was the audience, and he got lots of applause. Also, during the show he found several new places to use the trumpet, and both the performers and the owners were pleased.

Except for "Princess" Elena Omar, who came to George after the evening show, steaming with anger because he wasn't catching the nuances of her performance. She had a fiery temper, as did George, and was anything but diplomatic. Also, she was hard to understand because of her accent. I thought she and George were going to come to blows. I couldn't really catch much of their spirited exchange, but afterward George was sputtering, and grumbled, "I have half a mind to leave this God-damned circus if I have to put up with her!" Betty Reid, the owner, heard about it, and quickly came to talk to George. "You are a top performer, George, and the backbone of the circus!" she assured him, and continued with a string of extravagant compliments about his wonderful performance, and he simmered down.

That night we stayed at Winchester Bay, a small town not far from Coos Bay, on the coast. When I stepped outside in the morning, I was surprised to see what a beautiful spot it was. i There was a charming little inlet, smooth and tranquil, where many boats were moored, and cast their reflections in the smooth silvery water. In the stillness and the early morning light, it was almost a mystical scene. I teached for my camera  to take a picture, but Jim was in a hurry. "Why would you want to do that? We've got to get going. We have a long road ahead of us." "But it's so beautiful," I protested, "so peaceful and serene." "Never mind," said Jim, "there will be much more important pictures for you to take." So I put my camera away, and got in the motor home, but I thought, "What is more important than a moment of beauty you may never see again?"

First Show, Coquille, Circus Travels 4

After the rooster's much-too-early morning call, Jim grumbled and groaned and finally got up. He couldn't stop complaining all morning about "that damn bird," and amused himself creating recipes for soup. However, the rooster turned out to be part of the clown act, so he had to relent and let him live.

When it was time to set up for the first show, we carried speakers, drums, music stands, music, the trumpet, and various noisemakers over to the high school auditorium, and set them down against the wall out of the way, while the back drop was being hung, canvas laid down, and rings assembled in place.

Just as it had the day before, everything appeared to be in complete confusion, but we soon discovered that, in the circus, what appears to be chaos is usually performers setting things up for their acts, and doing exactly what they need to be doing.

The clown, still in street clothes, kept bringing  in props for his act. There was a large box with the words "CHICKEN PLUCKER" on the side, and two big spark plugs on top. A huge camera on a stand was labeled "INSTAMATIC," and a pink motor scooter, with a big spark plug in front of the handlebars, had a silly-looking parasol on top. I tried to imagine what he was going to do with all those things.

The roustabouts brought in two huge semicircles of canvas, laid them down, and then assembled a red and white ring around the circumference. A second ring was set up near by.

Two acrobats from Poland came and started to hang the back drop. It was entertaining to watch, as they used their acrobatic skills to do it, taking turns standing on each other's shoulders. Two women were with them watching, and a little boy, who hopped around in excitement, noticing everything and asking questions in Polish. He was very cute--like a little grasshopper.

The ringmaster set up his mike, and brought in  paraphanalia for the tricks he did between the main acts. He gave the microphone the usual "testing, testing!", and it gave out a horrible screeching noise, like what one might expect from a wounded owl. Jim sent me to the motor home for his tools and glasses so he could try to revive the ailing mike. After several minutes of tinkering, it became obvious that rigor mortis had already set in. It was definitely dead. Someone had to rush into town for a replacement before the show began.

Concession stands for refreshments, balloons, and toys of all descriptions, were set up out front, and were manned by circus performers. I was surprised at this, and asked the clown, who happened to be near by, "why are the performers doing concession?s" "That's customary," he answered, "they get a percent of whatever they take in. Concessions are what really brings in the money for the circus."

People began coming in, adults and kids, carrying popcorn, snow cones, balloons, and  trinkets. They straggled in at first, and then  began to fill the stands rapidly. There was something about the eager crowd, the buzz of conversation, the expectant faces, the colorful balloons, that changed the atmosphere. It was no longer a just a high school auditorium, it was a circus about to begin, and everything was festive and full of excitement.

The first act featured the Shetland ponies led by the blonde girl we had seen riding the bull the day before. Apparently she had just learned the act, and kept forgetting what she was supposed to do. The poor ponies got confused and kept turning the wrong way, while she desparately tried to straighten them out. The crowd didn't seem to mind at all, and kept clapping and cheering her on.

Then came the clown, whose painted clown face had a wonderful sad smile. He wore baggy plaid pants and a ridiculous green jacket that seemed to be much too small. Between the spark plugs and the "dynamite", his act was loud enough and funny enough to keep the kids laughing all the way through. The camera was a big hit, because the clown got a little kid from the audience to volunteer to come up and have his "picture taken", and then when he pushed the lever to take it, there was a loud noise, and snakes and other creatures (fake, of course) exploded out of the camera. The little kid went running back to the stands, and everyone got a good laugh, except possibly the hapless volunteer.

A rather handsome man in "western" clothes and a cowboy hat then did an act with a Brahma bull. When the ringmaster announced the act, he built it up as if it were an enormous, fierce bull that would come out snorting and pawing the ground, ready to do battle. George played "The Lonely Bulls" on the Cordovox, Jim the trumpet part with great fervor, and then a little Boston Bull Terrier trotted out with horns on his head looking anything but fierce. The crowd roared. The real act with the actual bull followed, and was amusing, but I think everyone liked the bull dog the best.

The elephants did their act without a hitch, walking around holding each other's tails with their trunks, sitting on their red stools at the proper time, lifting their front legs and trumpeting exuberantly. They seemed to be getting a big kick out of what they were doing.

A lady gymnast, Elena Omar, performed on a platform. Her act included her playing the mandolin while standing on her head, and playing it quite well. After that, with all sorts of preparation and fanfare, and a loud announcement from the ringmaster that, "Miss Elena Omar will now attempt to do the impossible right before your eyes, Ladies and Gentlemen, she will balance herself on just one finger!" And she did. Or she looked as if she did, and the audience was breathless.

The Polish acrobats did a "perch-pole" act, and the star of it was one of the women who was watching earlier as the men hung the back drop.  One man placed a perch pole on his shoulders, the other clambered up to the top of the pole, balanced himself, and put another perch pole on his own shoulders. Then the woman, who looked oh-so-different in her gorgeous sparkling costume, climbed to the top of the second perch pole, balanced herself, and then stood on her head! Wow! What guts! No net, no nothing. The audience went wild.

A handsome young man in a purple cape trimmed with gold, was announced by the ringmaster as, "The greatest trapeze artist in the world, Thaddeus Beran!" He came striding in looking like royalty itself, threw off his cape revealing a beautiful physique, and bowed low to the audience. Oddly, there was a straight chair attached to the side of his trapeze. At the beginning, he ignored this, and performed some fabulous balancing feats, right side up, upside down, sideways, all beautifull done. Finally he took the chair, sat in it, and balanced himself on the trapeze as he swung gently back and forth. At one point he pretended he was going to fall, and then recovered his balance. There were screams from the young girls in the audience, and then sighs of relief.

This, my very first circus performance in which I had any involvement, and where I saw everything so close at hand, was quite a show. The people, young and old, clapped and cheered, seemed to enjoy themselves thoroughly, and when it was over, left reluctantly with happy faces. There was magic in it, in the performing and in the excitement of the people watching. I understood in a way I never had before, why some people love to perform, and others love to watch. They give something to each other, and in that mutuality is the magic.

 

Coquille, Circus Travels 3

I was jolted out of a deep sleep by loud pounding--pounding that sounded like someone trying to knock down a house. Then there was silence and I went back to sleep. Next, I became conscious of whinnying, rattling, and voices. Then again came silence, and I drifted back to sleep once again. But not for long.

A rooster began to crow, giving his time-tested wake-up call for those happily snoozing at dawn. "Too early," I thought, "Go back to sleep!" This was meant both for me and for the rooster. No such luck. He took his job seriously, and kept on crowing, and crowing, and crowing, until the possibility of further sleep was out of the question.

I opened my eyes and looked around. "Where am I? Oh yes, the motor home. But where is the motor home?" As if in answer, I heard an elephant trumpet. Then I heard a roar. Yes, a roar, as in lions roaring. Now I was wide awake and remembered where I was. With the circus.

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The day before the rooster's starring performance, Jim and I had arrived at the highschool in Coquille, where the circus was to perform in the afternoon and evening of the next day. When we arrived, there were already many rigs parked, people milling about, long electric cords stretched on the ground to various outfits, hoses being attached, animals being tended to, and circus people meeting and comparing notes with each other.

We looked for George, whose habit was always to be early, but he wasn't there. We decided we should figure out where to park, always the first basic task when you travel by motor home. But to our inexperienced eyes, everything seemed disorganized and confused, with no apparent overall plan.

"We better ask somebody," decided Jim, and drew to a stop near a rather distinguished looking gentleman who appeared to feel at home in all the chaos. Jim rolled down the window. "We're trying to figure out where to park." The man looked at us with intelligent eyes and a pleasant smile. "What do you do?" "I'm one of the musicians. The other one isn't here yet. He has a small motorhome too." The man nodded. "That would be George." He had met him the previous year. He surveyed the parking situation with a practiced eye, and directed us through the confusion to an area where there was room for both our rigs to park.

Jim thanked him, and they shook hands. "By the way, what do you do," asked Jim, just as the man was walking away. He  turned back toward us, with a smile. "I'm the clown." I'm sure my jaw dropped. That was the last thing I would have guessed him to be.

After parking and getting hooked up, we went out to look around. Jim went his way, and I went mine, because I was mainly interested in the animals. I saw Shetland ponies already out of their traveling quarters, tethered to a fence. Nearby was a huge cream-colored Brahma bull with a saddle on it. As I watched, the trainer helped a pretty young girl, with long blonde hair, up into the saddle, and she began to ride the bull slowly around in a small circle.

Not far away, another young woman was excercising the elephants. There were five of them, and they were small, as elephants go, but large, if you were standing near them. They were very well behaved, and held onto each other's tails with their trunks as the trainer led them around.

When finally they were allowed to stop, they began to do the elephant version of munching. Their trunks were long and supple, and marvelously prehensile. The ends curled in liittle circles around tufts of fresh green Oregon grass, which they then stuffed into their mouths. When a water bucket was brought, they all put their trunks in at once, brought up water, and squirted it into their mouths.

A young man arrived on the scene, and began to put the elephants through their paces, speaking ever so quietly and gently to them. Most of the commands were given to Bimbo (I found out later), who was the oldest and largest, and was always the first in line. Bimbo responded immediatelly to every command. The elephants' lumbering movements belied their intelligence and capacity to learn. Sometimes after completing one of their routines correctly, they would trumpet loudly, as if proud of themselves and enjoying the whole thing.

There was a man, with a chimp on a leash, walking around. In this case, I think the man was getting more excercise than the chimp, who was apparently made nervous by all the people and activity, and kept leaping up into his trainer's arms instead of walking along.

George finally arrived and got set up. He had had a flat tire on the way, and was full of woe. He was a wonderful musician, but impatient and hot-tempered, and did not handle disasters well. After listening for awhile to his sad story, Jim decided that food might ameliorate George's upset state, and invited him to dinner. Jim was Italian, and an expert cooker of many pasta dishes.

He made crab-leg spaghetti sauce for the pasta, and the results were almost illegally delicious. George, who was also Italian, was in seventh heaven. I have to say, there is no experience quite like that of listening to two Italians moaning with joy over a top-notch pasta dish. This gustatory high point put George into a mellower mood, and his tire experience receded into the past.

When the evening ended, I was glad to fall into bed, and was fascinated to be falling asleep to the sounds of elephants trumpeting, ponies whinnying, and a chimpanzee rattling his cage and screaming into the night with an angry, lonely cry.

On to Coquille, Circus Travels 2

From San Francisco, we headed north over the Baybridge toward Vacaville, and on to Redding, where we met George and his girlfriend, Eva, who had driven up with him from Los Angeles.

We had  planned to spend the next day being tourists, but were awakened early by the sounds of a hard rain pounding on the roof of our motorhome. It continued all morning, and finally, around noon, did turn into a beautiful day. We went out to Shasta Lake, and saw that the rain had done little to alleviate the effects of the drought that had been afflicting California that year. It was very low, with twenty feet of exposed dirt above it, a depressing sight.

We wandered out west of town and found a lake where we could rent a flat bottom motorized boat. Jim wanted to fish, and tried. George and Eva were less than thrilled.

The next day, Eva had to fly back south to go to work, and George, in his motorhome, and Jim and I in ours, started north toward Ashland, Oregon, where we were planning to spend the night. As we drove north, Mt. Shasta  was majestically beautiful on our right, and seemed so close!

Later in the day, we were behind a large semi as we were going up a hill. It had bales of hay strapped onto a platform at the back. Jim said, "I'll bet they're with the circus, and that hay is for some kind of animals." "What kind?" I wondered. "Maybe elephants," said Jim, "that's a huge rig." My mind was whirling with the possibiities of what we would soon be experiencing.

We continued on to Ashland, and were surprised to run into snow in the mountains before coming down into town. We found a wonderful restaurant, The Country Kitchen, which  had been recommended to George. The food was excellent, and, for once, George, who was hard to please, had no complaints. He ate with gusto, and even complimented the waitress and the owner. "Great food!" he said as he paid his bill, "really great!"

Jim paid our bill, and got to talking with the owner about where we were going. "Well I'll be!" he said, his face lighting up, "I always did love the circus!" In spite of being along in years, and a little stout, he suddeny looked like a little boy. He asked Jim what his act was, and when he heard he was a musician, lit up all over again, because he loved music, too. The upshot of it all was that we were given permission to park our rigs out in back of the restaurant for the night.

In the morning early, George, always impatient, banged on our door as if the hounds were after him. "Hey, get up! We gotta get going!" My eyes were barely open. I was trying to feed the kittens. Jim groaned. "George says to get up," I told him. He groaned again, but got up.

The trip to Coquille was beautiful, especially after we left the freeway and got on Route 42, a two-lane highway that wound through the mountains and through small logging towns reminiscent of frontier days.

How It Began, Circus Travels 1

My travels with the circus came about in an odd way. I was engaged to a musician, Jim, a trumpet player with a Dixieland band. Another musician, George, who sometimes filled in with the band, got a job playing for a small circus for a tour through Oregon, Idaho, and Montana, a gig that was to last a couple of months, starting in  May. George was also supposed to find a drummer, and asked Jim if he knew anyone who could go.

But as soon as Jim heard about it, he wanted to go himself. One small problem: he didn't play the drums. But he set to work to learn how, and George, though skeptical at first, was amazed at how fast he picked it up. In just a few days, he actually began to sound like a drummer. He practiced constantly in the four months before circus time, and by May was sounding pretty darn good.

At the beginning of May, we set out in our motor home for Coquille, Oregon, the first circus stop, with our mother cat, "Feelings," and her two little kittens, who were only a couple of weeks old. Definitely bad timing! But we couldn't leave them behind, so they had to go with us.

On our way out of town, we stopped for gas, oil, and a last check, and somehow, Feelings, got out of the motor home and ran off. We looked everywhere, searched all around the gas station in all the places where a cat might think to hide, and up and down the streets, under bushes, behind boxes, hoping we would find her, but alas, we couldn't.

After about an hour, we had to go, because we had to be in Coquille by a certain time. We left all sorts of names and phone numbers of friends, and offered a reward, in case anyone found her.

With heavy hearts we went on our way, and were both very quiet for the first couple of hours of our journey, thinking about what we had lost.

Between Ventura and Santa Barbara, we began to come out of our shock. We had to think about how we were going to keep those tiny kittens alive without their mother's nourishing milk. They were so small!

It was a lovely sunny day, with a gorgeous build-up of fluffy white clouds across a deep blue sky. The  hills were green and beautiful. Ordinarily, I would have been ecstatic, but my mind was on the loss of Feelings, and on the fate of her now orphaned kittens.

We passed Santa Barbara, and turned up into the foothills on our way over San Marcos Pass. Our rig went slowly but solidly upward, and the engine temperature remained steady, something we had worried about. Just over the top of the pass, Lake Cachuma came into view, blue and serene in the distance. The alfalfa fields were lush and green, and yellow mustard was sprinkled across the hills like golden dust.

We stopped at Buellton to get milk for the kittens, and I found a couple of doll bottles with real rubber nipples that we hoped would work for the feline infants of which we had just become surrogate parents.

Jim turned out to be very good at the project--much better than I. He made sure there were adequate holes in those tiny nipples while I warmed some milk, and we embarked on trying to impersonate a mother cat. The kittens, who were finally awake and hungry, took a very dim view of their new food source. In the end, however, hunger won out, and we got them both fed. We ate something ourselves, and got back on the road.

We were planning to spend the first night with Jim's daughter in San Francisco, and got there about nine. We apologized for our lateness, explaining how we had just become parents, and then, were treated to a marvelous omelet, made by Cheryl's husband, John, a very sweet guy.

                 (To be continued)