My Clown Triptych

"Clowning keeps the world spinning -- without circus clowns the earth would probably stop rotating with laughter and lose its warmth, becoming cold and dead to children and adults alike!"

 Those immortal words were penned by Roland Butler, the head of Ringling publicity for many years, back in 1929 -- the year of the Stock Market Crash. The coming decade would see an increased need for clowns and their elixir of laughter as the Great Depression choked the life and hope out of millions of people worldwide.

I didn't catch many circuses as a child; usually just once a year. But I loved the clowns with all my heart, mind, might, and strength. Growing up in Minnesota I was lucky enough to discover the Minneapolis Film Society, where I watched the cinema clowns caper in silent black and white every Friday night. They were magnificent. And I wrote about them:

CHAPLIN.

One alone against the world, and homeless in the gutter;

the Little Tramp ate bitter bread without a touch of butter.

His sentimental pantomime is out of sync today;

nobody likes to laugh and cry — tis but a stale cliche.

But resurrection comes to those who clowned with all their heart.

And Chaplin will again someday resume his waggish part.

Otto Greibling once gave me a slip of brown butcher paper, on which he listed the clowns he thought were the best. The first name on his list was Buster Keaton:

His stillness was of that great kind when loud reverberation

has ceased but still the air remains in flux and agitation.

Soberly considering a world filled with derangement,

he was the very archetype of post modern estrangement.

The puzzle of the Sphinx or Mona Lisa in his face

gives to all his slapstick a tintype religious grace.

The greatest compliment I ever received as a clown was from a school teacher down in Mexico, where I studied pantomime for a year during a hiatus from Ringling. That teacher told me, after I did a show at his school, "You remind me of Stan Laurel." I'll always cherish that plaudit, even though nowadays I much more resemble Oliver Hardy!

Yin and Yang, they travel down the primrose path together;

bound and harnessed by the most peculiar type of tether.

Their friendship is at odds with the dynamics of existence.

They rub along together with a risible resistance.

The serious and sane do not pretend to understand

what makes them so beloved by the folk of ev’ry land.

But like all clowns who caper for our pleasure, then depart,

Stan and Ollie have a purchase on the humble heart.

I've always loved the poem that Dick Van Dyke read at Stan Laurel's funeral, so please let me share it with you -- in tribute to the many, many clowns who have lightened our load over the years:

God bless all clowns.
Who star in the world with laughter,
Who ring the rafters with flying jest,
Who make the world spin merry on its way.

God bless all clowns.
So poor the world would be,
Lacking their piquant touch, hilarity,
The belly laughs, the ringing lovely.

God bless all clowns.
Give them a long good life,
Make bright their way—they’re a race apart!
Alchemists most, who turn their hearts’ pain,
Into a dazzling jest to lift the heart.
God bless all clowns.

Or, as Roland Butler also once wrote:

"A good clown is not only worth his weight in gold, but worth all the sunlight that ever has shone!"

Amen to that! 

If you want to know more about Roland Butler, I recommend reading "Center Ring" by Robert Lewis Taylor.