Practical Jokes in Clown Alley

A wave of practical joking swept through the Blue Unit of Ringling Bros’ clown alley in the summer of 1971.

Whoopee cushions, rubber vomit, and pepper gum were rampant.  I was lured into this tawdry practice with a pea shooter; I would wait for my unwary victim to turn their back on me and then shoot a plastic bead at their neck.  I kept my anonymity for about a week before a quiet suggestion from Rick Cobban, to the effect that if I wanted to keep my front teeth intact I should cease and desist immediately, caused me to change my tactics.

I began gluing dimes to the cement floor in clown alley, using epoxy, and then watching in high glee as various parsimonious denizens of the alley would vainly try to pry the coin loose.  I overreached myself when I tried gluing a quarter to the cement floor.  The midget brothers Stanley and Lester got a hammer and cold chisel, chipping the coin right out of the floor and leaving behind a gaping crater that probably still baffles the  maintenance staff of that particular building.

My final comeuppance came from Dougie Ashton, the noted Australian comedian.  We all used old steamer trunks for our costumes, makeup and smaller props.  I bought mine at a St. Vincent DePaul store in Augusta, Maine, for ten dollars.  The standard issue trunk from the circus management was a puny foot locker made of flimsy plywood; it fell apart if you looked at it the wrong way.  We all wanted big, strong, hefty trunks, where we could sequester an entire set of the Encyclopedia Britannica if needed.  Dougie’s trunk was especially capacious, having been in his circus family since the 1920’s.  It was virtually indestructible. 

I decided it would be a good idea to tie a tow rope around his trunk, toss the rope up over a steam pipe, and then haul the trunk up, out of immediate sight, one evening when I thought no one was around to witness my caper.  The next day Dougie went berserk, trying to locate his trunk by showtime.  He usually strolled into the alley a few scant minutes before the start of the clown’s come-in, when we had to be out warming up the audience, to daub on a bit of makeup around his eyebrows and mustache, loudly proclaiming that a true clown didn’t need to hide behind much makeup.  This did not make him too many friends, especially among the new clowns such as myself, who prided ourselves on the hours we spent getting our ‘faces’ on just right.  So nobody told him that his trunk was right over his head until showtime was upon us; he untied the rope and lowered his trunk with celerity, and colorful cursing, but still missed the opening of come-in, and was fined twenty-dollars by the performance director, Charlie Baumann.

When he found out who had done this foul deed, as he eventually did, he bided his time before striking back, lulling me into a false sense of security.

One payday, after the last show, I locked my cash salary into my trunk and went out to take a shower.  When I got back my trunk was gone.  No one would tell me where it had gone.  My entire week’s salary was gone with it!  Being just 18 at the time, a beardless youth who had never left the environs of Minneapolis prior to joining the circus, I broke down and cried a little bit.  I went back to the train and  spent a sleepless night in my murphy bed.  The next day Dougie came by to inform me he had put my trunk in the ladies room at the arena. 

I got the trunk out of one of the stalls, where it had been wedged tight with diabolical skill, and was delighted to find my salary still intact.

That cured me of playing practical jokes on my fellow buffoons; after that, I played my jests strictly on the audience.