Ringling Forever: Revisiting the Last Great Big Top Through the Pen of a Master

 

 

John Ringling North

How bitter-sweet it is, reading Center Ring, the richly endowed book by Pulitzer Prize-winning author Robert  Lewis Taylor, published in 1956 — the year of Ringling’s last big top.  Between its covers are a compilation of pieces Taylor turned out over the prior seven seasons for the New Yorker magazine.  These were based on his talking to the show’s leading stars and support staff on the ground.  If you have never read Center Ring, you have deprived yourself.  This one goes near the top of my list.

Bitter-sweet especially because of what we are living through — by far the worst season in American circus history. In fact, no season at all.  Among Corona’s long-term blows to American life, the circus may come out high on the list.  Pray it won’t.  As you know, it was already on life support.

Taylor’s literary treasure trove captures the golden years of John Ringling North.  Never, it might be argued, was the American circus more lavishly costumed, more profusely talented or daringly inventive.  That was the time of Cecil DeMille’s award winning movie, The Greatest Show on Earth.  The time when Europe's top acts counted a ring in the show – any ring – as a summit in their careers.

Is Taylor’s narrative all true? I can’t say it is. There are errors I have spotted. For example, I was surprised to learn that North was “usually accompanied by his brother Henry” on his talent scouting abroad. I thought that a female supplied companionship.  Nor did North discover Pinito del Oro in a “gypsy Cave.” 

Perhaps the show's vocally captivating publicist, Roland Butler, put some tale tales over on Taylor, who described him, “unquestionably the world’s  most skilled composer of embroidered news,"and rewarded him with the longest page count of all his profiles. 

As for the input of all the others quoted, their words ring true to me  And I fact checked a few of Taylor’s accounts to find them valid.

The author’s witty and clever prose makes for not only a damn good read, but a very instructive one.  There is so much here to learn from and be well entertained by. Among the depth of research, I was impressed by the information revealed on animal trainers and their insights.   And by, best of all ---  credit Art Concello, the ways of trapeze flyers.

Some excerpts:

Merle Evans on making song selections and how he arranged segments of them in an order “to sound like one natural composition.”

English circus owner Bertram Mills, in a desperate wire to John Ringling “I want that band leader of yours, and I want him bad.”

A “hardened circus hand” on the music for Wedding of the Winds:  “the minute I hear those first three notes of that god-damned waltz, I want to sit down and bawl.”

John Ringling in reply to Roland Butler about a piece fraught with lies, cooked up on Tom Mix by a young Ringling publicist: “Heat it up! Heat it up!  What do we care where it came from.”

 “For Pat Valdo, variety is the essence of circus” Amen.

Pat Valdo; “Most circus people perform for each other — the real critics – rather than for the crowds.”  I  believe this.

24-year-old Flyer Fay Alexander to Art Concello, at the start of spring training in Sarasota: “Art, I won’t put on another Mother Hubbard [for spec] ...  It’s professional suicide.”  Nonetheless, the sulking Fay could not get out of spec, but put on  something.  They hated it then as much as they do — did — up to the present time.

This is a remarkable achievement in circus literature, a great enduring read about the ways of circus people. how they do their work and how they feel about each other.  And now it offers us a radiant reminder of what we once had on these shores.  

By    the    way:  Where are all these hordes of people crowing around my midway coming from?   Have none of you the courage to make a non-anonymous peep -- in the heroically self-sacrificial act of daring to put your own name to it?  In fact, have you a name? You're not all robots, are you?  Pardon me for  just wondering.

Kelly Miller Circus, Sunday, September 1, 2019 ...

The Kelly Miller Circus Is Official Closed. Thanks For The Memories.

Other than this message, typo included,  the website is now totally blank, all other pages having been apparently removed.

 

Remember the once-happy days of John Ringling North II?  His stetson hat, an audience landmark?  There he is, but no, as originally reported here, that is not him, as I guessed, at the head of the table with staff and fans, but Casey Cainan .  Johnny II could not and would not continue without the animals, and who are we to blame him?  Do I see Harry Kingston at the feast?  Surely I see clown and tell-it-like-it-is blogger (then) Steve Copeland, third up on the right.  Steve was so honest in sharing life on the show --  such as crowd sizes to cell-phonies mucking up the audience -- that we had to have our daily fix.  Truly a new kind of on-the-spot circus reporting -- Nothing like it before or since.  We were lucky!  Now, it all feels like a wonderful little golden age.  In my heart still, Ringling forever.

Send in the Nuns When the Clowns Can't Make 'Em Laugh

Long interesting story in the Wash Post about Sister Dorothy Fabritze, who gives Communion at five different circuses, currently traveling with a sister companion, Mary Seibert, from one show to another.  To reach Kelly Miller, they follow the arrows.  Such true sawdust saints, they!

Sister Fabritze started out 16 years ago spending all her days on the Ringling show, but now she shares her faith with many other believers or spiritual seekers on smaller shows.  Blessed are the humble, out of their spangles.

Greatest Mass on Earth: Ringing believers await the sisters 

On Kelly Miller, the sister's most avid listener of the moment is Finnish ventriloquist Sebastian, a European import by John Ringling North II, who works with his puppet Hector and who describes himself an "inquirer.”  (Hector is apparently abstaining).   It seems the two are not always making them laugh, and the silence of a crowd, to be expected inside a chapel, can be traumatic under a tent.  Writes Post reporter, Abby Ohlheiser,  Sebastian  "killed [em?] in the Rio Grande Valley. But last week in New Jersey, “it was very difficult,” revealed Sebastian.  A true confession from a true pro.

On the road with altar to go:  the two sisters in their sanctuary on wheels

After spending an hour with Sister Fabritze,  Sebastian, maybe a convert, maybe not, needed to be up and out -- to get ready to do his act.  Another crowd. Another chance to entertain.

The visiting Sister offered the humble ventriloquist  her daily blessing, tailor made just for him: “Make ’em laugh.”

If he can, perhaps our touring nun has one more for the flock

Thanks to  Don Covington, who sent  me the Post story
Top two photos from Washington Post
Photo of Sebastian, by Rick Purdue

Sunday Morning with Don Marcks: A Day at Carson & Barnes Circus in 1965

Lucky find:  I was going to say, this is the closest image I could find of a circus off a country road, and then, I discovered - look closely - "Carson & Barnes on a truck!  Not sure the year.

Some of my most pleasant circus-going memories are of select past editions I have seen over the years of the Carson & Barnes Circus, when it spread its magical, if sometimes modest, assets across three to five rings.

For years, I have thought back on a day, up near Calistoga in Sonoma County, when I and either Hugo Marquardt or Don Marcks went to the show.  A nice grassy lot on the side of a country road.  Plenty of people in the seats.  It's a standout day.  Sometimes, C&B would breeze across the sawdust in a kind of rough yet straight-ahead manner, no intermission to stop the flow, a live band adding gusto to the merry mix.

So I was delighted, by serendipity, to find this entry in a 1965 diary, which I'd been going through, researching another subject altogether:

The date is September 11.  It's a Saturday:

"I went this morning on the L bus to El Cerrito, where I met Don Marcks, who took me with him to see the Carson & Barnes show in Vallejo [so that's where it was! Not too far from Vallejo.}  It was a pleasant day.  The performance was 'good' - well paced and noticeably free of commercials (there were no signs in the big top).  Sky King was there to entertain the kids, and he sang a song about the circus which he had written for the finale.  It was nice -- Then I came home with a Mr. Bert Hanson, an elderly man who works magic for a hobby."

From nit-picky me, the above sounds like a near-rave.  Some circus shows remain a flowing stream through our honoring memories.  That was surely one of them.

Sunday Morning with Don Marcks: My Elephant Hair Extractions While Clowning on Wallace Bros.

Ha!  This almost sounds like a Steve Copeland post.  Me, collecting elephant hairs?  It must have happened, if we are to believe Don thanking me in a  letter dated October 3, 1961, after my six weeks trying to be a trouper (clown) for Wallace Bros. Circus.

Reading back through Don's letters, am I glad I've saved them all, actually at one point close to tossing some of them away.  Yes, what wretched dis-appreciation for my OWN history, as well as DON'S.

When you look back over your own archives, you discover things you had totally forgotten, giving you reasons for actions taken that you have since misrepresented to yourself.  

"Many thanks for the elephant hairs and the data on the Wallace Circus elephants which you sent me," Don wrote, and how surprised I was to read it this evening.  How strange, the things we forget.  Which gives these letters, however simple, such richness.  In some, feelings of those days in my youth return.  Don was a great friend, especially considering my sometimes overbearing opinionated ways, having been sent over the moon by the White Tops when they published me at age 14.  I think, in some quarters, they are still regretting it.

Continuing, "I was quite surprised and happy to receive them, for I never dreamed that you would actually be able to get the hairs."

Which make me happy I did -- however I brought it off.  I'm not the type to wiggle between a mammoths legs with scissors in hand. 

"I figured that if we could gather the information on them we'd be pretty lucky.  Many thanks for all of the work you did for me here I certainly do appreciate it."

We circus fans each have different areas of intense interest.  Some the band.  Some the tents, the wagons. Some the pachyderms.

Next week: More from Don's letter - about his thoughts on my having traveled with Wallace Bros. and about the Ringling  show that year.  Also, as a bonus to a certain crowd, I'll see if I can dig up some mud. Cool?

Sunday Morning with Don Marcks: The Wide Disenchanting Line Between Fan and Trouper

Not so enchanted?  Showbiz David with Wallace Bros. Circus, trying to be "with it and for it"

Some travel along for a week or so, in their own mobile homes, parking across the street, or checking into motels, during the day helping out on the midway, inside the tent, for the satisfaction of "traveling with the circus." 

But not until they cross the line between their own world and that other one back of the big top -- living within the community under canvas, maybe sleeping in a long semi on a narrow bunk, eating in the Ptomaine Joint (aka: the cookhouse) will they ever begin to comprehend how different the world of the circus really is. It may be less socially messy today than it was when I, for only six weeks (hardly a boast), went out with Wallace Bros., thanks to Bob Mitchell who got me the job.  First week or so, I felt like I were floating through the most wonderful fantasy.  After that, gradually, the reality of living in such close quarters around the clock with all kinds of people of the sort who endured the daily hardships began to stalk my idyllic vision -- not unlike a veiled hustler turning "love" on its head.  It takes guts to work for what I'd call a real circus.

Don Marcks, to my knowledge, never really crossed that line, although he harbored dreams of crossing it. He once I think spent some time working for John Strong, but at an across-the-street distance.  Maybe it's a good thing he remained a fan.  I myself lived to value remaining a patron out in the seats.  Yes, a few years later I did do press work for Sid Kellner, but far ahead of the show itself.  I was on my own. And Don offered great encouragement and support when I was making up my mind whether to accept the position.

Not long after I moved to Los Angeles in 1983, Don wrote me this, on June 10:

"This sure is a busy time - saw Carson & Barnes for three days and enjoyed it all.  No wonder folks want to be around the show.  It is like they used to be in the old days, everyone is friendly and it just feels good.{I have to wonder how he would know that.] I was ready to throw everything away and sign up for the tour. Someone told me Dorey would like to have me with it, but even if that were true I can't go now, not until all this hospital stuff is over. What would I do with Circus Report, so guess I'll stay home, weep a bit but keep the paper going?"

Yes, Don, I think you made the right decision. 

Sunday Morning with Don Marcks: Ringling Trapeze Wars Aim to Maim; Vicious Rivals Fired, Told to Hit the Road

Don and I talked often on the telephone.   We lived maybe 12 miles apart.  He seemed to enjoy ringing me up with the "latest."  "Hey, have you heard," he'd begin.  "I just got a call from ..."   I knew something juicy was coming my way, and I could almost hear a gleeful sigh on the other end of the line.

When I lived in L.A., there were more letters.  But still, up here before and after my stay in L.A., he would now and then dash off a letter, usually two pages long and impecablly typed, with this and that, and, of course, sometimes "the latest."

From September 11, 1988:

"Not sure if you were aware of it or not, but there has been a lot of trouble between the two flying acts on the Blue Unit this year and this has resulted in some fighting backstage, even filing charges against one another, some talk that cables were filed through, etc. Anyway, it all ended here in Oakland when the Caballeros were fired.  I don't know wher they went, but no doubt they will pop up on some show soon or at least for next season anyway."

And, then, about his model building:

"This week I received amerry go round horse, well it is a plastic modled horse from a 1927Phila. Tobaggan Co. ride.  It is quite nice and is what they call a stander, so is larger than most of the other horses.  I wanted this one, but it is larger than I expected it to be.  Think that I will keep it in the back room which someday will get turned into some sort of circus room. [never happened]  I was thinking of it for the living room, but because of its size I think it is better in the other room."

The "back room" might have been his medium-sized bedroom in what felt like a basement, which I often visited, because in it, at the far end, stood a desk upon which, his current model wagons under construction were to be seen.  Not much else in there but a bed without the color of a spread.  A rather blank room otherwise.  

The Vazquez, with Miguel spinning his magical quads, stayed on Ringling, and, after that, continued building a phenomenal quad legacy that is, to this day of diminishing aerial heroics,  unmatched by any other troupe. 

3-Minute Midway: Once a Crack Kid Ticket Seller for RBBB Under Canvas, Now He's Walking for Walker Bros. He's Bill Taggart, He Is!

He troupes on, he does, this invincible powerhouse of big top get-it-done. A while back he was driving the big trucks for Cole Circus of Stars. Now he's in-harness (I just love that old phrase) with Walker Bros. There he is, feeling his octogenarian oats, with Timmy Loyal and Loyal's daughter. You look tip top, Bill!

The ageless trouper is 80-years-young (gosh, thanks for making me feel soooo comparatively young), trumping high and checking in. College educated Bill worked in Ringling's yellow ticket wagon through the ill-fated 1956 season. A part of his tell-all memoirs about shady ticket selling on the Big Show landed in Bandwagon, a few years back. Our eyes collectively were opened -- OK, well mine were.

I keep waiting for Bill to take us through the 1955-56 seasons. He'll be getting those notes together, promises he, this winter.

Hurry up, Bill! Talk to us some more from the deep dark "inside." And please, don't forget to recount your day in Pt. Richmond, CA, 1955, when this here kid (me) was on the lot, utterly spellbound, hopelessly sinking into this madly glorious spangle-clad addiction, no meds required. Come to think of it, is that why I take no meds?

Lonely Ahead of the Big Show: Ticket Seller Bill Taggart is Sent to Sell Advance Tickets for Ringling in 1955; Engaging Bandwagon Account Takes Us Back to Another Time, Another Place

Ringling-Barnum set new records at Madison Square Garden

Marilyn Monroe's famous appearance opening night at the Garden

 Ready for another day in the yellow ticket wagon: Bill Taggart. Bandwagon photo.

He was the ticket seller everybody liked.  Midway in Bill Taggart's 1955 season with Ringling, he  reaches an unexpected detour in the road. He is assigned to go on the advance ticket sales to fill in for another ticket seller on the sick bay.

The circus  employed seven men that season, who each leapfrogged, handling select dates, setting up a booth in a local store, staying there from a few days to sometimes over a week.

Taggart’s first town was an eight-day stint in Jonesboro, Arkansas, where he stayed at the Noble Hotel.  What a far cry from how the advance is worked today.

The Holidays spec, designed by Miles White.  Ted Sato photo.

Only 24-years-old,  the amiable young Ringling representative took the temporary stint in stride, yet he missed the action back on the lot, where he enjoyed the friendship of so many Big Show people, among them, the young Alfred Burton, Deiter Tasso and the Fredonia family. 

On Honolulu Bay featured the incomparable Pinito Del Oro

His account takes us into the cities, into its hotels and cafes, and he recalls the scarce presence of African Americans, who lived in the shadows, in fear.  On Ringling, the canvas went up and down, says Taggart, mainly because of the black men upon whom it critically relied. 

“I was well aware of the fact that I was in the segregated south, and you did not see blacks on the street at night and few in the daytime.  I remember the black porter who worked at the store where the advance sale was.  He was friendly, but shy.  No black ever bought advance sale tickets.”

Once the circus reached up with Bill, the next day he was sent ahead to his next stop, to handle the advance in Barrett’s drug store in Greenwood, Miss.  “I liked eating at the post office cafe ... There were lots of interest in the 1955 edition of the Greatest Show on Earth, and I was proud to be working ahead of the show.  I remember lots of middle aged and older people checking out my big top seating plan and by late in the afternoon I had a good first day ...”

Looking for a camera at the Greenwood Camera store, he made friends with a "sales chap," and at the drug store, with a young medical student it employed.  “Once in a while he joined me at the hotel for dinner and drinks.”                                                                                

At the last moment, the show changed lots -- moving west on Cutting Blvd. to Pt. Richmond. 

I’ve anxiously waited this particular season from  Taggart’s pen just to see how he  would treat the Richmond, CA date.  It was there where I saw Ringling-Barnum under the big top for the one and only time in my life.  His details are regretfully few.  In a season of many so-so days, few marked by great overflowing crowds, Taggart remembers strong customer turnout in Richmond. So do I.

“We had a fair matinee and a good house that night.”  Yes, it was very good at night. That was the performance I attended, and the tent seemed nearly full to me.

Bill's story has a quiet appeal for any good and hopeless Ringlingphile;  Because we are traveling on the Big Show, every little encounter can seem bigger than life. 

After working a few towns, Bill got to return to the show itself and resume his regular duties, some in the yellow ticket wagon.  But he proved to be a very fine goodwill ambassador ahead of the circus.   In one city, he was invited to talk about the circus several evenings on a local radio station.  It “helped to boost my ticket sale at the drug store.  I had dreams of becoming a pres agent like Frank Braden or a radio man like Bev Kelly.”

Off axis from Sweden: Everto, of Evy and Everto, on his Anglo-Cycle

And, then, in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, Bill was so liked by one Mr. and Mrs. Fincher, who dropped by the store to purchase reserved seat tickets, that a dinner invitation  ensued.  “Wow, I thought to myself, I was actually going to be in a real house.”  He became good friends with the Finchers, and they corresponded for many years.

Another meal in Ft. Lauderdale would prove to have historic meaning.

“No one could have possibly imagined that this was the last Thanksgiving dinner served by the great Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey cookhouse.”

The last full season was soon coming to an end.  Taggart’s graceful account, attractively illustrated in Bandwagon, with some of Severe Braathen’s brilliant color photography,  leaves us all with an up close and personal route book, complied by a young man liked by many who harbored visions of a career under the greatest of big tops. A career that, sadly, came to a sudden end when the big top came down for the last time, the following July, in Pittsburgh, PA.

[the color photography you see here, not ideally reproduced, first appeared in a lavish Life magazine spread "New Shine for the Circus" -- and, who knows, might not appear here for long]

posted circa 2010