FIRST OF MAY
In circus lingo a ‘first of may’ is a boy who runs away from home to join the circus and is put to work as an apprentice clown. The name stems from the traditional opening date of tented circuses – the first day in May. That is when the dirt roads in most of the country were dry enough for circus wagons to leave their winter quarters in Indiana, Wisconsin, Oklahoma, or Florida. We are talking of long ago, over a hundred and fifty years gone past. I’m not quite THAT old, but when I joined Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Bailey Circus in 1971 I was labeled a ‘first of may’ by veteran colleagues in clown alley.
Red Skelton started his career as a first of may with the Al. G. Barnes Circus during the 1920’s.
Burt Lancaster joined the big top as a first of may late in the 1920’s. But quickly skyrocketed to star status as an acrobat/trapeze flier, along with his partner Nick Cravat. You can see him doing several circus routines with his partner Nick in the movie “The Crimson Pirate.”
First of mays, apprentice clowns, traditionally were not allowed to create their own makeups. They were instructed in putting on a classical whiteface make up, and that’s what they had to stay with until they had completed at least one full season with the show. Then they could switch to any kind of clown makeup they pleased.
I started out as a whiteface, not because I had to, but because my thin facial features looked good in whiteface. In my thirties I switched to an auguste makeup, one that emphasized the eyes and mouth with white while the rest of the face was flesh-toned. I did this because Stein’s Clown White (the only decent clown white makeup on the market) seals all the pores on your face, making it itch like all get out. On hot days when the perspiration couldn’t come through the skin on my face I used a large feather to frantically sweep across my face – I couldn’t very well scratch because that would streak the makeup.
Naturally a first of may did all the grunt work in clown alley. It was my job to mix up tubs of shaving cream from shredded bars of Old Spice shaving soap. This goo was used in all our pie fights. Real cream or fruit fillings in a pie would have knocked you unconscious when received in the kisser. Plus your makeup would be completely destroyed. Shaving cream in a can was too thin and light and wouldn’t hold together in a pie tin. It wouldn’t travel any distance, either. I’ll always associate the scent of bay rum with my days as a first of may.
I was also tasked with blowing up the balloons for the balloon chase. There was no air compressor or foot pump in clown alley. I had to blow up twenty-five balloons for each show. I did each one with my parched lips and aching lungs. These were put on a stick, then given to one of the vendors (known in the circus as a ‘candy-butcher’) to carry through the audience during the come-in (when the clowns warmed up the audience before the show started.) At some point a clown would grab the balloons away from the vendor and a merry chase would ensue, with the enraged vendor chasing said clown around the arena, while the original clown handed off the balloons to various other clowns. The blow off came when the last clown carrying the balloon tripped and fell on the balloons, creating a terrific but harmless popping noise.
A first of may had no say in creating any gags. He was given gag assignments by the producing clown – in my case, a veteran funster named Mark Anthony – who once carved a life-sized elephant out of foam rubber, hollowed it out, then painted it to look exactly like a real pachyderm, so it could be used in the famous disappearing elephant magic act.
Mark gave me a cheap paper parasol with a rubber ball attached to fishing line. The line had a hoop at the other end. I put the hoop over the tip of the parasol and then strolled about twirling the parasol, apparently balancing the rubber ball on the very edge of it. When I took my bow the ball swung loosely on the line to reveal the trick. It was a gag with whiskers on it. So eventually I came up with my own gag. I bought a large yellow plastic banana and walked around the arena with it stuck in my ear. My gag is meaningless today, but back in the early 70s there was a popular kid’s joke that went:
"Hey, you've got a banana in your ear!"
"What?"
"I said, YOU'VE GOT A BANANA IN YOUR EAR!"
"What? I can't hear you; I've got a banana in my ear!"
Believe me, my clown gag was a panic. Kids screamed themselves hoarse telling me I had a banana in my ear, while all I did was shake my head and mouth the words: “I can’t hear you, I have a banana in my ear.”
Mark Anthony was not happy with my departure from circus tradition. To show his displeasure he put me in the clown car, as the bottom member of the entourage that pours out of the tiny vehicle when it drives into center ring. There were any number of larger clowns than me who by rights should have been on the bottom of the pile of wretched men packed in like sardines; but Mark made sure I got that position, which left me nearly suffocated after each performance.
First of mays had to participate in all the dancing numbers at Ringling Brothers. There was Opening, Spanish Web, Spec, Elephant Menage, and Finale. As low buffoon on the totem pole, I was always placed directly behind an elephant in all of these numbers. Need I say more? I quickly learned how to side step around bales of steaming manure. Unfortunately I was not allowed to wear a gas mask. Elephants have an eclectic and undiscerning appetite, sucking up everything from cigar butts to rotten fruit. The resulting gaseous miasma could have fired a power plant.
I never felt put upon as a first of may for having to do all the grunt work and for taking instruction from my comedic elders. I loved being a vassal in that whimsical kingdom, which now exists only in picture books like other fairy tales.
The first of May is a holiday in many parts of the world, celebrating workers' right to unionize. But to me it will always be remembered as those hallowed inaugural months when first I put on the motley and slap shoes for a living.
