Friday. April 13th. 1979.

Once again I’m dipping into my old journals to resurrect this day, from forty years ago: April 13. 1979. With added commentary, of course.

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Spent the morning writing up a little piece about paperwork to give to April Crowley at the office and T.H. (Tim Holst.) In the afternoon I went dutifully to work -- though it mystifies me what earthly good I do there.

(The ‘work’ referred to here was the nascent office/warehouse of Chad Ericson, located on Nicollet Island in the middle of the Mississippi River in Minneapolis. He’s the guy who started Harvest Queen Food Dehydrators, with his partner Dave Dornbush. Chad and Dave were friends of mine from the University Ward where I went to church. April Crowley was the office secretary -- kinda had a crush on her -- and I was their very first shipping clerk. I received orders for the food dehydrators and filled out the paperwork to have the warehouse ship them out -- I also did accounts receivable. I found the job very boring, so quit after just a few months. Had I only known . . . Chad and Dave built the company up until they were bought out for a tidy sum several years later. April got a hefty check for the stock she had in the company. I sold my shares soon as I quit -- I think I got about ten dollars for them . . . the line to kick me in the butt forms to the left.)

 In the evening I read the paper very thoroughly and renewed acquaintance with Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scherezad -- which I hadn’t heard (or spelled) in a long time.

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That same day forty years ago I got a letter in the mail from my old pal Tim Holst. At the time he was still the Assistant Performance Director for the Ringling Blue Unit. I quote it verbatim:

Madison Square Garden, NYC

Dear Tork,

I truly enjoyed your last letter. I had almost given you up for dead. As always, things are just about as hectic as they have always been with me. I am rapidly approaching five happy years of marriage. One beautiful little girl, a bald head, and finally . . .. a home in Florida. Have you ever bought a home by mail? Well, take it from me, DON’T.

(Sadly, Tim’s marriage to Linda ended in deep acrimony several years later. Perhaps I shouldn’t write this, but at this late date I don’t think it matters -- I never really cared for Linda at all. She was a statuesque blonde, and Holst got her in as a showgirl -- but the day she met me, when I came back on the show as a clown after my mission, I can still clearly recall her first words to me:  “Please don’t take up so much of my husband’s time -- he’s a very busy man.”)

We decided to invest some of our savings so we bought a place in Sarasota County, and have it rented out. I am now a landlord. Br. Lutz from the Church owned the property, and another church member built the home, and I bought it. The church in Sarasota is building a new chapel out on Beneva (that’s where you turn to take the shortcut to the old church by the Sarasota Country Club. It is a beautiful building, almost finished.)

(I never went to church but a few times in Sarasota during my circus years with Ringling -- we always had rehearsals on Sundays. I do remember vividly one Sunday when I went up to church, I invited along my friend and future clown partner Steve Smith, and, wonder of wonders, he accepted. Everything went well until one of the Sacrament Meeting speakers, who worked as a town fireman, referred to blacks in his talk using the N word. Nobody else seemed to mind -- remember that this was the Deep South forty years ago -- but Smith blew a gasket and stalked out of the meeting. Smith is white, and has always been very liberal. He never again showed the least interest in the church after that sorry episode, and I can’t say I blame him.)

I’m looking forward to reading the first chapter, and will promise to give you a very frank opinion. I have not rec’d it in the mail as yet, but will drop everything when it comes.

(I have no idea what I was working on at the time, that I would send chapters to Holst. It may have been an abortive biography I was doing on Otto Griebling, the wonderful silent clown I knew on the show during my first year. Otto had throat cancer and couldn’t talk -- so he used pantomime to communicate, and did it superbly. I only ever finished 3 chapters of that forlorn book.)

Have you heard what Uncle Irv bought? (Irvin Feld, owner of Ringling Brothers.)  He and Kenny saved up a couple of bucks and bought, not one, but two Ice Shows. Ice Follies and Holiday on Ice are now part of the Ringling Organization. I’m up for promotion in a couple of months, but they haven’t cracked what it’s all about. Maybe it’s the old string-along routine.

They are busier than ever, and we hardly see them . . .

Every clown I’ve talked to has volunteered to be Frick & Frack, and suddenly everyone here knows how to be a skater. Especially the showgirls.  

We had a swell visit from my folks., and they just loved hanging around the show.

I really have no good advice about the opposite sex. Maybe after 30 years of marriage, I could offer some advice, as for now, I [am] just keeping my head above water. I do know that the older and more set in your ways you become, it’s really hard to change or be even flexible. I would however, hold out, until you know that you’ve got the best buy. Be a smart shopper. By the way, save your money . . . you’ll need it.

In case you’ve had second thoughts about coming to work here, I’ve slipped a show schedule in the envelope. Please note the 10:30 shows . . . clowns have the most fun.

(As you may recall I had my infamous run-in with Michu, the World’s Smallest Man, a few years earlier, and was still blacklisted from Ringling. It took many years to get back into their good graces -- and it was mostly because Holst kept singing my praises in the ears of Irvin Feld that it happened at all. I owe that Holst an ever-growing debt of gratitude for all he did for me over the years.)

Take care, Bear

(Holst got the nickname ‘Bear’ our first year together on Ringling as clowns -- he could be grouchy and growly at times, like a bear waking up from hibernation, and was built along the lines of a round rubber ball, so that was the nickname we gave him. I had several nicknames -- Tork, Pete the Pup (for the one black eye I sported as a whiteface clown) and Dracula -- because my canine teeth stuck out rather prominently when I smiled in whiteface, until I learned the old clown trick of covering my teeth with my lips when I smiled.)

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Attached to that same page in my journal for some unknown reason is my “Statement of Tithing and Donations” for the year 1979. Back in those days tithing slips were organized along different lines than today. And there were different donations/contributions that were considered obligatory if you could manage it. For one thing, each ward had a ‘Building Donation Fund.’ Back then the Church did not pay for the construction of new chapels -- each ward was assessed for new buildings in their stake, and the bishop met with each adult member to see how much they could contribute. This was in addition to tithing and fast offerings. That year, according to this yellowed piece of paper in my journal, I donated $548.00 to the Building Fund. I have no idea where I got that kind of money, since I only worked a few months in 1979. Of course I was sponging off my folks, with free room and board, and I didn’t own a car.

I think I’ll go out and buy me a food dehydrator today . . .