--When I was a kid there was a big vacant lot behind Sloan's
Department Store, which a traveling carnival would overtake for a week
every summer.Now there's a
hotel there, and a Shoney's restaurant, and I don't know if Dunbar's even part of the carnie
circuit anymore.And how sad is
that?
But
it sure was exciting when I was a youngling.Big trucks would roll into town with folded-up Tilt-O-Whirls
and Scramblers on the back.We'd
see corndog stands coming off the interstate exit, and in one
impossibly abbreviated afternoon there'd be a full-blown carnival
where none had stood just hours before.
I remember hanging around while they assembled tall rides, like the
Ferris wheel, and seeing them sledge-hammer uncooperative bolts into
place.I told my Dad about
this, not really understanding the significance of it, and we were
never allowed to ride anything at those carnivals again.
And now that I think about it…It's
a wonder something like the Bullet didn't fly apart, and a car full of
kids go sailing end-over-end onto the roof of City Hall.Or the Ferris wheel itself could've jumped from its housing,
and turned into a rolling hoop of unthinkable tragedy.
But I didn't care about the rides that much.In fact, I can remember being leery of them; perhaps a little
common sense was kicking in, even at such an early age?I didn't know much, but I knew screws weren't supposed to come
flying off The Spider, every fifth or sixth rotation.
No, I liked the games and the sideshows and the deep-fried food.And I liked hanging out there and, as we called it,
"messing around."Which
meant annoying, and being threatened by, carnival workers with yellow
eyes and a right hand with only a ring finger remaining.
Here are some memories right off the top of my tiny Duke head.Bill or Steve or Tim might be able to help with this one as
well, 'cause they were usually there at the same time.But here goes…
--A kid I went through school
with, named Danny J., played some game at the carnival (I can't
remember the details), for days on end, trying to win a pack of
playing cards with naked women on them.
Finally, after he'd plunked down five or six times the value of the
prize, he was a winner.And the
guy didn't want to give him the nudie cards...He said we were too young, and he'd get into trouble.
I was standing beside Danny when all this happened, and he didn't say
anything for a second or two.Then
the color of his face started changing, and he said, "You're
either going to hand over those cards, or I'm going to turn over this
fucking trailer."
We
were only twelve or thirteen at the time, but there was something in
the tone of his voice that made it clear he wasn’t just making an
empty threat.I believe (as did
the carnie, I guess) that Danny would’ve, indeed, found some way to
turn over that “fucking” trailer.
So the guy gave him the cards, and told us to get the hell out of
there.And we spent the next
half-hour sitting at a picnic table looking at 1950s photographs of
naked breasts, and giggling excitedly.
--The sideshows were always
great, even when they were disappointing.Know what I mean?
I remember they once advertised a five-legged goat, or somesuch.And after we paid the admission fee there was a regular goat
hanging out behind the curtain, with an extra leg taped
to its side.I mean, that kind of shit is classic.
Another time they promised to show us all sorts of incredible things,
a long list of freaks and radical deformity.But when we were allowed admission to the tent, we found photographs
of all the things they’d promised, stapled to sheets of plywood.That one kinda pissed me off; the taped-on goat leg was much
better.
I remember some kid, roughly our age, who would supposedly lie on a
bed of nails.His father (I
guess) was the emcee of this “show,” and kept putting a lit
cigarette in his ear.Not
behind his ear, like a pencil, but in the ear hole itself.He did this absent-mindedly, as if it was completely normal
behavior.
When the boy came out, he laid down on a piece of wood with so many
nails in it, it was practically a solid sheet of metal.Anybody could’ve laid on that thing, and we just walked away
shaking our heads in amazement.
Year after year they came up with some new way to vacuum the quarters
from our pockets…
--My Dad tells a story about
carnivals when he was a kid (growing up in the very same town), and a
sideshow attraction known as Eeka.
Apparently this Eeka was a mentally damaged woman who was kept in a
muddy hole in the ground, with snakes and chickens and things.He said she was scary-looking, with filthy hair and a wild look
in her eye.
Occasionally she’d grab one of the chickens and take a bite out of
it, like it was an apple.So
she’d be smeared with blood, growling, eating live chickens, and
wallowing around in a pit of filth and snakes.
He said the whole thing scared the crap out of him, and he’ll never
forget it.In fact, all my life
I’ve heard him say things like, “Good God, look at that woman!She looks like Eeka.”You
know, while walking around K-Mart, or whatever.
He’s been talking about Eeka as long as I’ve been alive, and he
probably saw her during the Truman administration.Man, I wish I could’ve witnessed sideshows when they were really
good like that…
And that’s about all I’ve got on this subject.If you have anything to add, please use the comments link
below.
I’ll leave you now with a question from the Stealing Clive Bull’s
Subjects desk:Have you ever
returned to a house or apartment where you used to live, years later?What were the circumstances?And
what were your impressions?
I’ve never done it, but I’d sure like to.Someday I want to walk through the two house I grew up in, in Dunbar, and have a casual look around.Bill tells me a guy from our high school class is living in one
of those houses now, which is kinda weird.For some reason I don’t care for it…
