Remembering Allen J. Bloom

Allen J. Bloom was always known as Irvin Feld’s right hand man. In the treacherous world of show business and arena booking, where a dog-eat-dog mentality existed, it was highly unusual to find two such men so willingly and inextricably bound together. Feld trusted Bloom completely, and Allen would do anything for Feld without a thought for his own comfort or advancement. Theirs was the kind of working relationship that made cynics shake their heads and wonder about their own wisdom.

Bloom was not seen very much in clown alley. His duties lay elsewhere. And, I believe, so did his inclinations. He didn’t actively dislike the clowns, like Performance Director Charlie Baumann did, but he didn’t love them like his boss Irvin Feld did, either. He was somewhere in between -- tolerating them, I think, as a necessary nuisance.

My one major interaction with Bloom occurred in 1973, when Steve Smith and I were being considered as advance clowns for the Ringling Blue Unit. We were both flown out to Washington D.C. to confer with Mr. Feld about the position. Uncertain how to dress for such a momentous occasion, I wore a three piece dark green suit I had picked up at Eckblad’s Discount Clothing in downtown Minneapolis. The salesman assured me the material was indestructible and would last me for many years to come. On my thin frame it made me look like a willow sapling. Eschewing the regulation necktie, I wore a polka dot bowtie. I invested in a staid grey pair of Hush Puppies.

When we arrived at the office Mr. Feld was busy tying together some loose ends with a team of Frisbee free-throw champions from Argentina. He bade Allen Bloom take us in hand and give us a tour of the town until he was finished.

Bloom took one look at my outfit and said “You look like you could be the town banker in Hooterville!”

Allen Bloom was a connoisseur of fine wine, Cuban cigars, and the best cuisine in the Capital. He knew the toniest nightclubs and was on a first name basis with every Maitre D worth knowing.  But after taking one look at Smith and I he decided we’d be just as happy with hotdogs and a visit to the National Zoo. He even bought me a bright green balloon to go with my suit.

At the Zoo we paused by the monkeys to eat our hotdogs on a park bench, and Allen unbent a bit with us. He told us of the days when he had to babysit Chubby Checkers, who had a tendency to get homesick for New Orleans while on the road -- he missed a particular kind of southern fried chicken they only served in the French Quarter and would blow off shows to drive back down to the Big Easy for it. It was Allen’s job to keep him on tour, even if he had to lock him into his motel room each night and stand guard.

He told us about his boyhood dream of wanting to see the world before he settled into a dead end job like his father. He signed on to work aboard a tramp steamer that was leaving New York for Africa’s Gold Coast when he was 16, but his mother cried so hard when he told her that he gave it up and instead got a part-time job sweeping floors at a drugstore -- which was owned and operated by Irvin Feld and his brother Izzy. One night a desperate customer came into the store for something to ease his headache. The pharmacist had stepped out for a minute and the other clerks were busy, so Bloom politely listened to the customer’s symptoms and then ‘prescribed’ a bottle of Algonquin Indian Elixir --  which the Felds sold in the summer at county fairs around the DC area. Not only that, but he persuaded the man to spruce up his appearance by purchasing a pearl-handled hair brush, a large tin of mustache wax, and a large bottle of Vegetal cologne. When Irvin heard about this sales coup, as Bloom made sure he would, he was so impressed that he immediately brought Bloom in on promoting their new record store. And the rest, said Bloom as he finished his hotdog and lit up a Montecristo, is history.

When the monkeys began losing their appeal we wandered back to the circus office. Bloom had made Smith and I feel like we had hit all the high spots in DC and were now accredited bon vivants. He had that kind of magic when dealing with people, from clowns to lion tamers to newspaper reporters. He gave people the feeling they were important. That, I think, was the secret to his success as Mr. Feld’s right hand man -- anything Feld wanted promoted, from Paul Anka to Ringling Brothers, Bloom would promote with zest and good fellowship. And with the best bottle of of Veuve Clicquot available.