Publicity Director for Culpepper & Merriweather Circus

In 1984 I once again thought I had given up the circus for good.  That year began auspiciously enough, working as a clown for the prestigious Nameless Shrine Circus.  We played a lot of dates in Canada and the U.P. of Michigan, moving from one squat hockey arena to the next in the early spring.  There were five of us in clown alley, all seasoned veterans, and getting along well.  I had the coloring book concession; for every book I sold I got two dollars.  So the money was good.  Initially. 

Things  fell apart that summer, when all the clowns but me left the show.  They all apparently knew what I didn’t; that the Nameless Shrine Circus always did good business in the spring, and then went to hell in a hand basket for the summer, when they sporadically played rodeo grounds and county fairgrounds in the western United States.  I had to carry all the clown gags myself, and discovered, to my embarrassment and dismay, that I have no talent as a producing clown, making big props for big ring gags.  My forte has always been pantomime.  But the owner of the Nameless show hated pantomime; he wanted explosions and dummies flying around on bungee cords.  When I couldn’t deliver the goods, he hired some Mexican clowns to produce the gags (and I did become good friends with them, and do have a lot of respect for Latino joeys.)  I didn’t realize I had become a fifth wheel on the show, not until the owner asked me, as a special favor, to travel ahead of the show to Bentonville, Arkansas, to do some pre-show publicity.  He handed me some cash, told me to get a decent motel room, and wished me luck.  I sure needed it, because the show never came to Bentonville, Arkansas, and when I finally contacted the owner he calmly said my services were no longer needed, and this was the kiss-off.  I had spent every last cent I had, waiting for the show, so I pawned my wedding ring for bus fare back to Minnesota, where my wife and kids were expecting the big paychecks to continue.

After that debacle, I swore I’d never follow the tanbark trail again.

Fast forward to 2005; I was working for the Utah State Tax Commission, as a tax collector.  Y’know, the fellow you never want to hear from on the phone.  I garnisheed the wages of hard-working blue collar workers, revoked licenses when businesses fell behind on their sales tax, and put liens on the homes of little old ladies to squeeze every last dime out of them.  All I needed was a black cape and long mustache to twirl and I’d be Snidely Whiplash.  One morning as I was knotting my tie I had a flashback to a time and place where all I ever did was make people laugh.  Calling in sick, I spent the day repairing my resume and sending it out to every circus I could think of.

A week later Trey Key called me.  Would I be interested in a clown job with Culpepper & Merriweather Circus?  You bet I would!

I resigned from the Tax Commission and was down in Hugo, Oklahoma, in two weeks, with my clown  trunk crammed with refurbished costumes and props.  After talking things over with Trey, he made a decision that profoundly impacted my life and career.  He told me to forget about being a clown for the show; he was going to send me out as the Publicity Director.

Wow!

He personally trained me in the job, all the ins and outs of dealing with sponsors and maximizing every free publicity outlet.  I also had to inspect every patch of ground where the circus would set up, to make sure it was adequate and safe.  Low telephone wires are the bane of any mud show’s existence.

Then he gave me my itinerary and wished me god speed.  I was to report in to him each evening by cell phone about each town and each sponsor I had visited.  (This was the first time I’d ever used a cell phone; I felt like Buck Rogers!)

I’d like to say I was an immediate and decided success in my new role of Publicity Director, but the truth was it took me a long time to internalize all the information and advice Trey gave me.  Too long, that first season.  I was in Spencer, Iowa, on the Fourth of July, when Trey called to bluntly say that things weren’t working out as well as he had hoped.  Attendance had been way down for the past six weeks, and he was laying off staff so he could keep the show on the road.  He’d have to let me go.  Since he did it in a straightforward and professional manner, I didn’t mind it so much.  Besides, I’d just been to the local radio station, KICD, where I’d left off a stack of tickets for the DJ’s to give away during their shows, and discovered that the station manager was an old friend of mine from Brown Institute back in Minneapolis.  He’d said that if I ever wanted to go to work for him he’d have a place for me.

Don’t you love it when things like that happen?

So, I went from being Publicity Director for Culpepper & Merriweather Circus to Talk Show Host for KICD-AM Radio, in Spencer, Iowa.  As such, I promoted the eating of canned sardines (one of my prime fetishes; they’re GOOD for you, and so cheap!); I cracked an egg on the sidewalk on Main Street on the hottest day of the year to see if it would fry – it didn’t – and I single-handedly revived the ancient art of making corn cob jelly by inviting a 90-year-old woman onto the show to demonstrate how it is done.  (The jelly, I may say, makes a good relish for an Iowa chop.)

But that’s NOT the end of the story . . . “good day” . . . as Paul Harvey might say.

The next spring Trey Key calls me to ask if I want to give the circus publicity job another try.  He needs someone fast.

Well, Land o’ Goshen!  Here I am settled into a comfortable job in a friendly little town in Iowa, making decent money and becoming of a local celebrity.  What do you think I told him?

I’d be in Hugo in two weeks.