The Life and Times of Irvin Feld

I spent the summer of 1997 doing research on the life and times of Irvin Feld. My personal interactions with the man, as well as his great influence on the entire world of clowning due to his creation of the Ringling Clown College, left me intrigued -- curious to know much more about this myopic little entrepreneur who started out with his brother Izzy selling snake oil in the Appalachians during the Great Depression and wound up as owner and operator of The Greatest Show on Earth. As my research progressed, I determined to write his biography.

At the time I had already written several novels and the first volume of my own autobiography -- called Clown Notes -- and thought, in my obliviously smug way, that capturing another man’s life would be as easy as ordering a hamburger at McDonalds. Especially a man who basked in the publicity limelight as much as Feld had. There were reams of newspaper and magazine copy about him, all easily accessible.  

I recalled vividly my first prolonged encounter with Feld. After my graduation show at Ringling Clown College in 1971 I was convinced there would be no contract offer for me, so headed back to the Venice Villas to pack, lick my wounds, and figure out how to take the bus back home to Minneapolis. It was a rainy, humid, Florida night -- the peepers were croaking dismally along the canal; fireflies described lazy zigzags in the dark foliage; and the smell of wet vegetable decay left me depressed and resentful at my failed attempt to escape my stifling Scandinavian upbringing. My life’s trajectory pulled down by the force of failure’s gravitational pull.

But then Bill Ballantine, the Dean of Clown College, interrupted my listless packing by banging on my apartment door to demand I return immediately with him to Winter Quarters -- Mr. Feld was impatiently waiting to see me. Me? Numb with disbelief at this fairy tale turn of events I was ushered into Mr. Feld’s presence in Ballantine’s office. Wreathed in cigar smoke, Feld sat behind the desk and beamed at me.

“Ah, Torkildson!” he said brightly as Ballantine literally pushed me through the office door and left. “You’re a regular screwball of a clown, aren’t you?” He was referring, I believe, to my accidentally spraying him and his entourage with a fire extinguisher during the show. “We need that kind of craziness in clown alley.” He unscrewed the cap of his gold-tipped Montblanc, then pushed a paper contract towards me. “We’d like you to start rehearsals with the Blue Unit next month. How about it?”

His thick glasses gave him an innocent, goggle-eyed appearance. I mumbled something in return, I don’t remember what, picked up the fountain pen, and signed.

“Fine, fine!” he said. “Anything you’d like to ask me about working for the show right now? I want this to be a profitable experience for both of us.”

I was still in shock at this sudden turn of events. My brain’s higher functions had shut down. I just shook my head and backed away towards the door.

“Okay, then. If you ever have any problems you can get ahold of me at any time. My door is always open to my clowns. And send Ballantine back in on your way out, will ya?”

Uncle Bill apparently had been listening at the door -- he rushed past me as I went out into the lobby and down the stairs.

And I found it to be true, at least for me, that Irvin Feld’s door was wide open. During that first season I wrote him several letters, complaining about AGVA dues and the unsanitary plumbing at Madison Square Garden. He always replied with a brief note, thanking me for my input and promising to look into the matter. His assistant, Arnie Bramow, hand-delivered his replies to me.

I took it for granted that he was like this with all the clowns on the show. But I got an inkling of his affection for me, and his possessiveness, several years later when I finally told him I was leaving the show for a two year voluntary proselyting mission for the LDS Church. That didn’t set well with him.

“I’m disappointed in you, Torkildson” he told me in his Washington DC office, after I had been startled half to death by the stuffed carcass of Gargantua, the famous killer gorilla, that he kept leering in his outer office. “I gave you your big chance and told Baumann to cut you plenty of slack. Now you go and leave me for some religious mumbo jumbo? I was grooming you for something better, y’know. Now your career will be over before it’s hardly started. Is that what you really want, kid?”

I affirmed my commitment, which only irritated him more. When I held out my hand to say goodbye he petulantly turned his back on me and let me leave in silence.

But Irvin Feld had trouble holding a grudge against his clowns. When I returned home in two year’s time, needing work, I called his office number and was immediately put through to him. He asked me how I had enjoyed myself in Taiwan, I told him it was Thailand, not Taiwan, where I had been serving, and he got right to the point by asking if I needed a job. I said I did, he told me to be in Cincinnati that weekend, and the deal was sealed.

So I had my own memories of him, as well as anecdotes from Swede Johnson and Bill Ballantine about the great man -- along with what I culled from the media. I wrote to Kenny Feld to tell him of my plans to write his father’s biography -- but never received any reply. Or help.

After three months of research and writing my money ran out and I had to go back on the road. I had no experience in finding grant money or any other way to fuel my work. I’d managed to write 170 pages and found it impossible to continue the story. The more I worked on his life, the less I felt I knew about Irvin Feld. In retrospect, I was too young and cocky to write a proper biography. So I desktop published my truncated “Life”, sold a few copies through ads in Circus Report Magazine (where I had a weekly column), donated a copy to the Circus World Museum in Baraboo, and forgot about my project in the hurly burly of keeping body and soul together while working on mud shows.

Recently I was surprised to find that Amazon.com is still offering my book, “The Life and Times of Irvin Feld” online. No copies have been sold in years, and it looks like Amazon is out of stock anyway. I may have the original manuscript tucked away somewhere in the musty old trunks I keep in my storage closet -- I recently discovered a discarded manuscript in one of them for a novel on LDS society called ‘The Further Adventures of Elder West -- but even if I did exhume my work on Irvin Feld I doubt I would have the energy and focus to expand it with further research and writing.

But I sure wish someone more competent and passionate than me would take a crack at it. It seems a shame that such a vibrant personality should be relegated to a short article on Wikipedia.

Irvin Feld. 1918 to 1984.