My Favorite Blow Offs

In all my years as a clown with Ringling Brothers and other circuses, the one thing that eluded my grasp -- the Holy Grail, if you will, or will-o-the-wisp just beyond my reach -- was the creation of an original and unique blow off for a clown gag. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t conceive of any smash ending that would leave ‘em rolling in the aisles that hadn’t already been done by better buffoons than I.

At various times while inhabiting clown alley, to end a gag, I had my head blown or chopped off; my rear end set on fire or filled with smoking buckshot; been doused with water; smacked with pies; been conked by foam rubber pile drivers and mallets; been smashed down to midget sized or elongated into a two-storey beanpole; chased remorselessly by skeletons and devils; been deprived of my pants; shot up and suspended in the arena rafters; and painted fire engine red from stem to stern. And that’s just a listing from off the top of my head!

Could I but find Aladdin’s lamp, I would command the genie to give me an original idea for a blow off. But since that is unlikely to happen anytime soon, I will, instead, share some of my favorite cinematic blow offs with you -- for the great clowns of Hollywood stole all their best blow offs straight from the circus ring. Feel free to contact me if I pass over any of your own personal favorite blow offs, and I’ll add it to the list. There are so many to choose from:

In Laurel & Hardy’s silent film You’re Darn Tootin’ there is a gigantic ruckus at the end, where every man devotes manic energy to pulling the pants off of whoever passes by -- as the cops close in to collar Stan & Ollie, they make their escape by both jumping into the temporarily empty pants of a gigantic fat man who is frantically waving his hands in despair. As the camera irises in, we see the immortal duo briskly walking away from the camera ensconced in the single pair of pants, politely tipping their hats to us as the “End” title comes up. I remember seeing this movie at the Varsity Theater in Minneapolis when I was a teenager -- the gust of gut-busting laughter that greeted that blow off was the equivalent of a small atomic bomb.

A few years later, in Blotto, the boys think they’re having a wild night out on the town with a bottle of illicit hooch -- but Stan’s wife shows up to tell them the bottle contains nothing but cold tea and ipecac. As the boys scram from Stan’s irate wife, she follows with a huge shotgun, takes aim, and literally blows them out of the taxi cab they are inhabiting -- turning the vehicle into a mass of smouldering tin foil.

And my favorite L & H blow off occurs at the end of their last American-made film, The Bullfighters.  In this opus the boys are constantly menaced by a gangster who threatens to ‘skin them alive.’ At the end of the film he does just that, offscreen mercifully, and the movie ends with two clanking skeletons, with Stan and Ollie’s heads respectively perched on top of them, walking towards the camera, while Ollie intones one last time: “Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into!”   

A colleague of Laurel & Hardy, Charley Chase made two-reelers from 1925 until 1945 -- and his invention never seemed to flag. In 1940’s The Heckler Charley plays an obnoxious sports fan who heckles the players at every sports event he attends. His refrain never changes -- he hollers “Watch him miss it!” He finally gets his comeuppance at the end of the film when a gangster backs him up against the wall with his gun, ready to drill him. As the camera pans away from Chase and the thug to the crowded sports arena, we hear Charley’s motto one last time -- “Watch him miss it!” -- followed by a loud gunshot that has undoubtedly found its mark.

The Grand Guignol endings of Three Stooges movies, of course, could engage the attention of comedy aficionados, as well as psychiatrists, for an eternity. My personal Stooges favorite comes from their send up of Hitler in I’ll Never Heil Again. Moe plays Hitler, with Larry and Curly as his demented henchmen. They get blown to smithereens at the end of the film -- but not quite. The last shot shows their heads on a trophy wall in the study of the new ruler!

One last blow off before I quit . . .

Although I never thought it was all that hilarious, Buster Keaton claims in several interviews that the biggest laugh he ever got in his films was the blow off from his 1921 film Hard Luck. At the end of the film he jumps from the high dive and misses the swimming pool. He crashed through the cement patio, leaving a gaping hole. A title appears: “Years later . . . “ and Buster emerges from the hole in Chinese garb with a Chinese wife and several little kids in black silk pajamas and pigtails in tow. Go figure.

Ah well, to paraphrase Shakespeare:  “All's funny that ends funny.”

Headlines & Verse. Monday. July 31. 2017

TRUMP DUMPS SCARAMUCCI ONE WEEK AFTER HIRING HIM

Nobody moves faster than Trump,

When it’s time a drawback to dump.

Poor Scaramucci

Was given the smoochy

Of death and kicked out on his rump.

PUTIN REPORTEDLY DISAPPOINTED HE CAN'T PUT A MUZZLE ON TRUMP

If Putin thought Trump advantageous

To further his own plans outrageous,

He’s in for a schock

From all of the schlock

That Trump spreads like something contagious.

MOSCOW SHUTTERS US EMBASSY OUTBUILDINGS TO SHOW WHO'S BOSSKY

The Russians will play tit-for-tat;

Our diplomats they tell to ‘scat.’

To score extra points

They’re closing our joints

In Moscow and leaving us flat.

The New York Times Mail Art Project. Tribute to Winston Churchill.

I found an old magazine full of black and white photos of Winston Churchill, which decided me on a mail art tribute to the old bulldog. I can’t put my finger on why, but I think Churchill is due to make a comeback -- although he has never really left the stage; books about him, his wife, his kids, his debts, his diplomacy, and probably his fleas, have been coming off the press steadily ever since the First World War. He was his own best publicist. But something about him is going to reverberate through this century that will leave his contemporaries like FDR and Stalin in the shade. Maybe his pluckiness? His humor? His hard drinking? I dunno. Churchill has always resonated with me, personally. I think the old boy will resonate equally with the recipients of these mail art pieces . . .

Headlines & Verse. Sunday. July 30. 2017

FORMER KANSAS GOVERNOR SAM BROWNBACK CHOSEN AS NEW AMBASSADOR AT LARGE FOR RELIGIOUS FREEDOM 

Religion is all well and good,

Tho often tis misunderstood --

Some think it a sham,

Or giant grand slam --

It just means you do what you should.

CHINESE CONGLOMERATE GIVES BILLIONS TO AMERICAN CHARITY -- BUT NO ONE SEEMS TO KNOW WHO OWNS THE COMPANY OR WHY THEY GAVE THE MONEY AWAY IN THE FIRST PLACE

from Michael Forsythe in the NYTimes

A gift horse is never refused,

Although its background is confused.

A charity must

Take money on trust --

Although its ideals may be bruised.

AMERICA STILL CONSIDERED LAND OF OPPORTUNITY BY INCOMING IMMIGRANTS

When immigrants come to our shores

We give them a smile and s’mores.

A pat on the back,

A sturdy knapsack,

Then make them do our dirty chores.

The New York Times Mail Art Project. Part Eleven. Nothing is perfect in life except gold.

The three mail art pieces displayed below are a triptych. Each one of the three has part of a statement: "Nothing is perfect/in this life/except gold." It is highly doubtful that all three pieces will ever be placed together again, once they're mailed. 

Mr. Goldman emailed me back: "Thanks Tim. I'm now located in Hong Kong so it will be a good test of the NYT mailroom to see if I receive it. I'll let you know if I do" 

Headlines & Verse. Saturday. July 29. 2017

MADURO CONTINUES TO THROTTLE DEMOCRACY IN VENEZUELA

Democracy’s a fragile bloom that hardly lasts an hour.

It’s crushed by those who seek to stay in everlasting power.

In Venezuela, government is spreading potent chains

To prolong the madness that comes when Maduro reigns.

O mothers of Caracas, raise your children to despise

Maduro’s grasping minions and their double-dealing lies!

YOUR AIRLINE SEAT IS GETTING SMALLER, AND THE FAA DOESN'T GIVE A RAT'S PATOOTIE

A young man who got on a plane

Had to get up and complain:

“My seat is so shrunk

I have to get drunk --

This whole thing is quite inhumane!”

HACKERS PROBABLY KNOW WHO YOU VOTED FOR BEFORE ELECTION OFFICIALS

Our voting machines are a joke.

They can be hacked in a stroke.

This means when we vote

That hackers take note --

And privacy goes up in smoke.

The New York Times Mail Art Project. Part Ten. Non-Inclusive

I initially named this project The New York Times Mail Art Project because I was sending my work to mostly journalists with the NYTimes. But now I've run out of their names and am sending these things willy nilly to reporters from many other newspapers. and I may expand to include the Huffington Post and BuzzFeed. It only goes to show that modern art has no boundaries -- especially when it comes to good taste. 

The Snob and Clown Alley

You can’t tell who this lady is in the photograph above. And that’s on purpose. Because the lady in the photo asked me to delete her image from my blog site. She told me she did not want to be identified with any blog that had the word ‘Clown’ in it.

Why? Because she said it was in questionable taste.

To back up -- I often eat lunch at the Provo Senior Center. Once a month they bring in a performer to share their talents with us old folks while we chomp on meatloaf and swill apple sauce. This particular woman came to sing to us. I was impressed with the warmth of her vocal offerings, so asked if I could do a photoshoot while she sang, to post on my blog. She was delighted to say yes -- so I spent 45 minutes taking over a hundred shots of her sharing her talent with the senior citizens. When it was over she asked for the name of my blog site, which I gave her. That’s when her snobbery surfaced.

Not only did she ask that I not use her image or name on my blog, but she had the effrontery to first ask that I delete all the photos from my digital camera -- and then changed her mind and asked me to send them all to her, but still not to use them myself. I politely told her I would be happy to delete the photos, but would not consider letting her have them first. She seemed startled at my decision.

Before that damn word ‘coulrophobia’ even existed, there were plenty of people who had it in for clowns -- but not as scary creatures. Clowns were simply ‘declasse,’ as the French had it. Low class individuals that decent people would not consort with. Probably criminals on the lam.

 

My former in-laws were always distraught that their lovely daughter had lowered herself to marry a -- ugh! -- circus clown.

When I first joined the LDS Church I mentioned to several of my file leaders that I wanted to quit clowning and become a Seminary teacher in the Church Education System. They tactfully indicated that with my circus background, it would probably not be possible to make that kind of career change -- the Church was very careful about the antecedents of potential teachers.

The word ‘clown’ itself is a pejorative -- in Britannic Latin it was ‘colonus’, meaning backwoods boor. From the sticks. A hayseed.

When Moe Howard, of the Three Stooges, tried to purchase a bungalow in Beverly Hills, he was told quite bluntly that the neighborhood would not allow a ‘low comedian’ into its hallowed precincts.

At Universal Studio in the 1940’s Abbott and Costello literally pulled the studio out of bankruptcy with their popular movies -- yet all their films were made on the ‘B’ lot. Bud and Lou were not even allowed to set foot on the ‘A’ lot of the studio until the 1950’s, when the studio got new owners.

And let’s not forget how America treated its greatest clown during the Red Scare of the 40’s and 50’s. In 1948 Charlie Chaplin left his home in Hollywood for an extended business trip in England and Europe. When he returned home the FBI impudently entered his house without his permission to demand a debriefing that ranged from his racial origins to his religious and political beliefs. The House Committee on UnAmerican Activities had Chaplin in their sights from the get-go, hounding him to come testify in Washington for completely frivolous reasons.  

This persecution reached a climax in 1952, when Chaplin went to England for the premier of his great film about clowning, ‘Limelight.’ The United States government denied him a reentry permit (eerily presaging our current Administration’s efforts to keep out ‘bad’ foreigners) because they suspected him, quote, of  ‘morals, health or insanity, or for advocating Communism or associating with Communist or pro-Communist organizations.’  So Chaplin went into exile in Switzerland.

What could America ever find threatening in this wonderful entertainer, who brought us laughter with a touch of wry melancholy? Nothing -- except he was a lowbrow buffoon who dared to aspire to be something better, both in his movies and in his personal life. And that was something the clown-haters were not willing to countenance.

Today the public may say they love clowns, and mourn their passing from venues like Ringling Brothers -- but I’m convinced that in their heart of hearts, many people still harbor a snobbish dislike and distrust of the whole slapstick fraternity, and are secretly saying to themselves ‘good riddance!’

Clowns deserve their place in the sun just like everyone else. I have always resented being diminished for my profession. And now that I’m retired and have become a writer, I intend to work towards full Clown Equality (as long as I don’t have to include Congress.)

Headlines & Verse. Thursday. July 28. 2017

NEW SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH SHOWS THAT BEING HAPPY MEANS HAVING MONEY TO PAY PEOPLE TO DO THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU UNHAPPY. DUH. 

My happiness is paramount -- I’ll do whate’er it takes

To sidestep all unpleasantness and everyday headaches.

For happiness is all that counts, when once the day is o’er --

To go to bed full knowing that I’ve evened up the score

With those who say I must work hard and rise before the birds --

Those know-it-alls who think to scare me with their idle words.

I’ll hire maids and butlers and go out to eat and drink,

And when my wallet starts to wheeze and visibly to shrink

I’ll have to pen some IOU’s with my high-priced Montblanc

And then go out with mask and bag to rob the nearest bank.

ANTHONY SCARAMUCCI USES POTTY MOUTH TO SHOW WHO'S BOSS -- NANNY NANNY BOO BOO!

The White House is counting on Andy

To mince not a word, but be randy

With a reporter,

Giving no quarter --

He’s either deranged or on brandy.

SCIENTISTS ADVISE CAUTION WHEN LOOKING DIRECTLY AT THE SUN -- EXCEPT DURING THE UPCOMING ECLIPSE. ANOTHER DUH.

Don’t look at the sun, people say --

Or else it might just ruin your day.

Even eclipses

Make your eyes dripses --

And that ends your life in croquet.

The New York Times Mail Art Project. Part Nine. The Truth.

Art is never true. How can it be, when it is subject to the follies and obsessive passions of an artist? Reporters, on the other hand -- if they are not the paid toadies of a patron or enslaved servants of a tyrant -- are always looking for the truth behind the screen of public and private events. So who is more to be trusted to find the truth -- the artist or the journalist? Perhaps the question should rather be -- who is more to be pitied, the artist or the reporter? 
These mail art pieces answer none of those questions. They are like having radishes for breakfast -- the results are either questionable or indigestible.