Sideshow banner

I can't draw. Not a bit. So the idea of me doing a sideshow banner seems just plain silly. Since being silly is become a life long habit, I wanted to find a way to indulge myself. It is also a fun, creative exercise to find ways to get around my lack of talent. I wonder sometimes that if I had talent at anything else if I would still do magic.

Well, I did a little research on the web and after experimenting on my own. I created my first banner. I may not be able to draw. I know layout and I can letter. And I like the mystery aspects as originally created by master gaffmeister Doug Highley. Although, he would not like my color scheme.

This is a 4 foot by 5 foot banner. Hemmed. Gesso. Painted with Acrylic Paint. The hemmed seam was folded over and sealed with Gorilla Glue to add strength. Grommets all around. Finally, 5 coats of a flexible matte varnish to make it waterproof.

What will I do with it now? Maybe I'll keep it. Maybe eBay. If you want, make me a offer.

Blog watch

Here is yet another great blog. I'll let it speak for itself.

"Raffaele De Ritis' Novelties and Wonders
Journal, Cabinet, Multilingual Parlour, Untranslated Conference Room, Repository of Erudite Pastimes, even a Gymnasium for the Polemist and the Humorist; Consacrated to Oddities and Facts Concerning Peculiarities of Theatrical Amusements related to the Circus, Conjuring, Comedy etc.; their Connections with Fine Arts; the Uncovering the Curiosities of their Past, and the Critical and Hopefully Provocative Account of what of Interest is Remaining of their Uncertain Present. Profusely Illustrated."

http://raffaelederitis.blogspot.com/

True History for the Showman

The Many Legs of Santa Anna

Antonio de Padua María Severino López de Santa Anna y Pérez de Lebrón was born with the standard two, although mirror imaged, matching legs. They served their master, Santa Anna, for many good years.

In 1810, at the age of sixteen, the three of them, Santa Anna and his legs, joined the Mexican army. By the time a dozen years had passed, Santa Anna’s stellar military service earned the rank of General. In 1836, he defeated the troops at the Alamo. Despite the victory, he was not received as a hero by the Mexican government.

In 1838, he saw a way to redeem himself when the French invaded Mexico. During the so-called Pastry War, cannon fire struck the General. His leg and ankle were shattered and amputation was the only option. In a ceremony befitting any war dead, the detached leg was buried with full military honors. His leg wasn’t the only loss, the battle was also a defeat, yet, Santa Ana styled himself as a hero.

During this era, wooden legs were little more than sticks. Santa Ana preferred a cork leg sculpted to a more realistic shape. This leg he would hold high above his head and wave it during parades to remind the onlookers of the sacrifice he made for Mexico.

However, he wasn’t finished with the formerly attached leg. On the year anniversary of his loss in the Pastry War and the ten-year anniversary of his greatest victory over Spain in Tampico, the leg was disinterred. Santa Ana had the limb paraded through the streets in an imperial coach and laid to rest in an ornate mausoleum. He commissioned songs and poems to eulogize, lovingly, his former member.

Santa Ana was president of Mexico eleven non-consecutive times over a period of twenty-two years. Sometimes handed the power of state, sometimes seizing it for himself, only to be thrown out of office for his extreme corruption. After one such event, a riotous mob destroyed his leg’s crypt. They dragged the desiccated appendage through the streets chanting “Death to the Cripple, Long Live Congress.” The leg hasn’t been heard from since.

In 1846, the United States declared war on Mexico. Santa Anna commanded the Mexican forces the battle of Cerro Gordo. American troops forced the General into a hasty retreat. Illinois guardsmen discovered Santa Ana’s personal carriage abandoned. Its contents included the General’s personal wardrobe, $70,000 in silver to pay his troops, and his favorite leg. The troops immortalized the leg in song parodies. To this day, the war prisoner (cork leg) is still being held at the Illinois State Military Museum in Springfield, Illinois.

Mourning the loss, Santa Ana never again would sport cork; wood would have to do. There is an unconfirmed rumor that Texas is also in possession of a wooden Santa Anna leg and tried to trade it for a flag that flew over the Alamo, which is owned by Mexico.

I can just imagine some industrious owner of a 19th cabinet of curiosities touring with wax copies of the many legs of Santa Ana.

Must have been quite the draw.



PostScript: The former legs of Heather Mills and Monty Stratton could not be reached for comment on the previous totally bizarre, mostly true, story.

Random Acts of Sideshow

How to go from Ordinary Human to Blockhead.

It started in the pain and torture acts, sideshow performances in which the performers endured or seemed to endure intense pain.

Some survived crucifixion on a nightly basis. Others just pushed needles through their skin. Not like in this age when gratuitous piercing has rendered shoving a spike through your tongue meaningless. Nope, these guys and even a few girls shoved needles through parts rarely pierced today, like arms and legs. One nutty bastard even thrust a sword through his chest. And when I say through his chest, I mean it. From the front and out the back, not just through a bitsy piece of skin, impalement is the correct terminology. If you want to see the pictures visit the link to The Human Marvels, check his archives.

One of the common torture tests was for the performer to pound a large nail or spike into his nasal passage. It horrified. The audience believed the nail pierced skin, bone, and, perhaps, even brain to make its way into the head. Of course, the performer hammed it up.

Then came a man by the name of Melvin Burkhart, he changed everything. He took a minor torture piece, turned it into a showstopper, and gave birth to a generation of blockheads. The big change was that he played it for laughs. This made it accessible to audiences. Sure, it was still shocking, especially because he used a HUGE spike.

I have performed the Human Blockhead act for at least a decade. What makes a man pound a spike in his face? I think for Melvin, it was work; it was show business. For me, it was another challenge.

So many years ago when I decided being a magician was preferable to working for a living, I also decided that I wanted to learn everything about magic and its allied arts. I learned to juggle, ventriloquism, and eat fire. Right now, I am working on whip cracking.

I digress. Ten years ago, a friend, Scott Wagmeister, introduced me to the act. After some experimentation with Q-tips, I moved to nails. First, just sliding them in and then figuring how to “pound” them into my nose. I tried larger nails until I settled on a size and length that was comfortable. I believe my sinus passage would stretch, but I don’t want to go through the pain of enlarging it.

Now, you can find performers who have backslid into making the act a torture act again. They shove ice picks, screwdrivers, and drills into their heads. Whatever works. (Whatever sells!)

I prefer the middle road, a little shock, a little fun.
Make ‘em squirm, then make ‘em laugh; pull them and let them know everything is safe.

The other day a new addition for the act came in the mail. Glass Nails!

I’ll get to the maker in a moment. The nails are made from Pyrex. They look great and slide in smooth. One of their amazing properties is that they conduct light, much like fiber optics. When the nail is deep in my nose, I can put a flashlight in my mouth and light up the nails.

Cool. I’m the Human Lite-Brite.
(Lite-Brite is a registered trademark of blah, blah blah.)

The maker of these wonderful new tools is Brett Loudermilk, The Freak Prodigy. I found out that he made these in the sideshow section on the Magic Café. No, never fear, I am not a member. I lurk, mostly shaking my head in disbelief, except in the sideshow section, which seems pretty decent.

Back to the commercial, Brett has made an incredible product. I urge anyone reading this that does the blockhead act already to purchase some nails from him. Don't waver. For a few bucks, it will make your act better. Even if you just perform it for fun, these nails add a lot to the show. Here is his e-mail: bretteloudermilk@gmail.com

Hey, get your freak on.

Discovery

It is a wonderful thing to be curious. I never know what I might discover.

Find a website that has a link page; follow the links to another page and their link page, and so on and so on. (Of course, you better set aside some extra time to do this.)

I followed a link to a sideshow page, which moved me to a performer’s page, and linked me to the page linked at the end of this article.

Did I ever mention I am selfish? I almost want to keep this a secret, a little piece of magic I own. Yet, I realize there are so few opportunities to experience something so original and so magical.

In my experience, I come across a lot of performers, some good, a few great, most bad. Most don’t know good from bad, but that is another essay. The great masses of performers fall into a predictable cookie-cutter blur. It is why I stopped hanging around comedy clubs. Airplane routine, followed by cat routine, fast food routine, “I broke up with me girlfriend because she dumped me.” etc. etc. etc.

Rarely, a performer will stand out, like a Mac King. Original. Cirque Du Soleil creates its own alternate universe. Original. (Not that a classic act can’t work and work well, a la Lance Burton.) In is just when you see something new to your world, it adds so much more.

Back to this website, it describes a show I have never seen and may never see. It could suck. But not in my head. See it, I felt lost in a daze of wonder like Alice down the rabbit hole. They created such an alternate world as Alice experienced.

As a writer, I should be able to describe anything; a loss for words is not an option. I look at what they’ve done with awe, admiration, a bit of jealousy, and wonder.

See it for yourself: Insect Circus Museum & Peep-Show Mechanical Menagerie

Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
--Lewis Carroll (1832 - 1898), Alice in Wonderland

Revenge of The Last Sideshow

I thought I was done, but here is a link to an article on our favorite subject.

Step Right Up, Ladies and Gents, to See the End of an Oddity - New York Times

or

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/13/us/13album.html?_r=3&ref=us&oref=slogin&oref=slogin&oref=slogin

The Last Sideshow? Final(ly)

Developing a show is a delicate alchemical process. A pinch of this. A dash of that. The formula is deceptively difficult to disinter. The variables so numerous, the combinations so exotic, and the blends so varied, there is no universal panacea. Yet, just as the alchemists were forced to follow a few immutable rules of nature, so must we performers do the same. To disobey is to create poison.

But there are different levels of poisoning, we ingest poisons every day. Most cause little to no damage, a few we embrace willingly. A show can be good or bad for many reasons: script, timing, emotional temperature, lighting, effects (choice of magic tricks, gags, etc.), costume, diction, acting, set design, price, marketing/promotion, or blocking. This list is just a broad overview.

You may even question some of these things, but the one wrong note could damage everything. There were two magic movies out this summer, The Illusionist and The Prestige. I liked both. Yet, while The Prestige may offer a better overall film, I liked The Illusionist better. Why? I believe it is because the two magicians in The Prestige were so loathsome I didn’t want either to have a happy ending. You might ask how marketing and promotion could damage a show, but perform the right show for the wrong audience and prepare to close early.

At this point, you are wondering what is this have to do with the wonderful sideshow previously described on this blog. I just want to remind my dear readers that developing a show is an art, not a science. It can happen by accident. It can happen by conscious choices. It can be great or it can suck. Sometimes it all comes together, sometimes it doesn’t. You might as well give your best try. A little honest self-examination goes a long way.

The problem is the show of our beloved sideshow doesn’t look honestly at itself.

I wanted it to be good. I dreamed it would be good. It is not good.

What frustrates me is that the mistakes are basic.

Step One, the personalities:
All the performers in the show are likable. That is the first hurdle. I made some specific critical remarks during my earlier narrative. The biggest problem is the worst talker is right up front, Prof. Chumley. He speaks with no energy, no excitement. He cannot hold the audience’s interest and get out the information he needs to get out. None of the inside performers are served by the sound system, which sucks.

Step Two, the script and blocking:
The words, when understood, don’t service the audience or the actions. There are several illusions in the show: Spidora, Headless Woman, Serpentina, the Four-legged Girl. These hoary old illusions are lame. It is especially confusing to the audience because the illusions are presented as real. They are not. If the audience could understand (or stand) the opening remarks, they would not have these confusions. If the illusions were presented with historical information in their individual introductions, there is no problem. I believe they might be more interesting if the audience knew their context. I had a customer in my store who loved Ricky Jay’s 52 assistants show. He said that is was special because not only is the magic good, but you also learn something.

The second problem here is the blocking. The main stage is fine, but the side stages are well below the standing audience’s line of sight. The first couple of rows can see the rest cannot. The wonderful fire manipulation act of Madam Tea-Lee is marred because no one can see it. Sometimes the lack of direction causes the audience not to know where to look.

Step Three, the effects:
Perhaps we are not shocked anymore. Have the “reality” shows on TV ruined that? The danger effects in the show elicit a “ho-hum” from the audience. The tension of these thrillers does not exist. Some of this can be cured by proper blocking. When Prof. Chumley pounds the ice pick into his nose, he does it straight on. Instead, he should turn to the side or tilt his head down so the audience can see the ice pick’s journey into his face.

Nobody ever proves the Bed of Nails and the Sword Ladder is dangerous. Drop an apple on the fuckin’ thing, will ya’? Show us why we should care that you are doing what you do. Most of the illusions shown suffer from not being performed with the most basic of plot.

The guillotine never worked properly. BJ juggled knives and in every show dropped them.

Sideshow SideNote:
Let’s face it. Reading the various books on the sideshow gave me a romantic notion of the great sideshow performer, weaving a web of words to captivate and con their loving audience. The outside talkers do that. I have to put the performers in perspective. If they were any good, they wouldn’t be in the sideshow. I am sure a few fall through the cracks, a very few. I say this, all the while thinking I want to perform in the sideshow, but do it better. I know I can.

Step Four, the time:
Twelve acts. Thirty minutes. Slightly over two minutes an act. There is no time to properly present the individual acts. The show is destroyed in the process. The audience is cheated. The audience is disappointed.

It appears the presenters of the show do not care about their audience past getting their tickets at the door. Half the acts, presented well, would make a happier audience. Even P.T. Barnum knew to give the audience more than their money’s worth without cutting corners. Cutting corners cuts satisfaction.

In the old days of the sideshow these corners were not cut. When the Headless Lady was presented, all sorts scientific apparatus surrounded her. Today, a few ill-fitting pipes.

Why has the sideshow died? Forgetting what makes a show; they cut out their own art and amputated themselves to death.

The Last Sideshow Part 9

For us, the show is over. I am nearing the end of my sideshow adventure, but I want to reset the clock a little. I wanted you, dear readers, to get the sensation of the bally and the show first. Things did not happen in quite that order.

I met Ward Hall after I saw a show. It was one of his employees giving the bally when I first walked up. After watching the show twice, I left and Ward was onstage beating a bass drum to help draw the tip.

Introducing myself, I told Ward that I drove up from Chicago to meet him. He replied, “I don’t know why you would do that.” This is the first clue to Ward’s personality. He is humble and even as he speaks of his life and his accomplishments, it never sounds like bragging.

Ward took me into the tent and introduced me to who he could. We talked about sideshows, pitching magic, and exhibiting oddities. I got a good look at his Feejee Mermaid. Ward’s generosity impressed me.

To quote the cliché, he didn’t know me from Adam yet, treated me like an old friend. When I asked permission to record the ballys, he jumped up on the stage and spit one out, ad-lib. Unfortunately, our time together was too short. He, along with Poobah and Chris Christ, signed an old “World of Wonders” poster that I bought on Ebay. I asked if I could look him up in the off-season.

The quote goes something like this, “When a man dies, we lose a library.” Ward is the American library of sideshow. I wish to draw out a few volumes before that library closes. Even if I don’t see Ward down the road, I’ll never forget the few hours that I spent with him.

There is only one more part for me to write. It is the part I have been avoiding. I watched and listened to a half-dozen ballys and shows. Up until this last part, I have tried, with varying degrees of success, to hold any criticism. In the last part, I will discuss the good and the bad of the show. In addition, I’ll try to offer some solutions. See you next time.

Last Sideshow -- Last Photos

The Headless Woman

(Diane in chair and BJ on left side, blue shirt.)

Bed O' Nails

(Lady Diabla prone with Madam Tea-Lee seated)

Looking into the Blade Box

The Sword Ladder with Ms. Diva

The Last Sideshow? Part 8

Ms. Viva, after being shocked, arachnid-ized, beheaded, disembodied, and soon to be steel footed, will introduce only a single illusion. Looking in our imaginary sideshow almanac, it is another classic, appearing shortly after and directly related to Spidora’s creation. It is Serpentina.

To Ms. Viva’s right, she opens the raised cabinet to reveal a tree branch horizontally bisecting the interior. On the branch appears to be a large constrictor-type of snake, a long scaled body with the head of a woman. It must the half-twin sister of Diane, our sword-swallowing siren, because the faces match. Again, our view is momentary and Viva hides Serpentina away. The final act of the show is about to begin.

Madam Tea-Lee is her name. We’ve seen her twice already. First, when we walked in removing the blades from the blade box. Second, she sat on the reclining Lady Diabla as a climax to the bed of nails. At one time, the circus, the carnival, the sideshow provided safe (a relative term) haven for the odd, unusual, criminal, and disenfranchised of society. Many, uncomfortable in the “straight” world, find acceptance under canvas. Madam Tea-Lee is heavily tattooed and heavily pierced. Shocking, perhaps to patrons from the heartland, but not iconoclastic anymore. She is a sideshow cliché, de rigueur with the emergence of shock shows like Jim Rose’s.

That aside, Madam Tea-Lee is the best talker of the group. She begins her set by moving to the front of a side stage and performing fire manipulation. That’s a fancy way of saying fire eating. She does it as well as anyone. Marring her terrific turn, the act is performed at floor level, which prevents most of the audience from seeing it. After her act, she’ll move over one stage to her left.

On that stage, she reveals Bessie Howe, (not Vikki Condor as the banner advertised) the four-legged girl. Between sets, Lady Diabla has not only gained a new name, but also sprouted two additional, all-be-it temporary, legs. Diabla...Bessie...who-ever...becomes a one-woman chorus line performing a high kicking dance while seated in an enormous chair. Tea-Lee returns the audience to the main stage and the Ballerina of the Blades.

She directs our attention to a short ladder, its rungs replaced with swords. She bangs an extra sword against the blades to prove the reality of them. The sharpness of the blades is left to our imagination. Ms. Viva, now bare foot, ascends and descends the ladder, her feet unscathed their journey. Now, we return to where we came in, to the blade box.

Madam Tea-Lee opens the wooden coffin and Lady Diabla (sans extra appendages) returns to lie in the box. After closing and locking Diabla in, Tea-Lee will drop 13 over-sized blades into slots pre-cut in top of the box. There are three large blades and ten smaller blades. I can best describe them as big metal pizza spatulas without the long handles.

The first large blade slices the box in two. The second and third cut each half into half; the box is now quartered. The remaining ten blades penetrate the box in diagonal angles seemingly leaving no space for Lady Diabla to exist. But, Madam Tea-Lee assures us that, indeed, “this is not a magic trick. She (Diabla) is not under the box, behind the box, or vanished from this box.” In answer to the unasked question, Diabla’s hand slips up between the blades to wave.

“Lady Diabla is not a magician. She is a contortionist.” Madam continues. In order to perform this illusion, Lady Diabla must “bend, twist, fold, and contort her body around each of the blades.”

The story moves to the blow-off. We learn that this act is an extra feature. Lady Diabla performs this, her traditional family act, only by the good favor of the audience. For the price of one dollar and one dollar only, we can climb up on the stage, look into the box, and see her pretzel like condition.

Yes, I’ll pay my dollar and so will many others. I don’t do it for the cheap and badly photocopied souvenir postcard. I don’t do it to see how the trick works. I don’t do it to see a scantily clad woman snaked around the metal obstructions. I do because that is the thing to do. Madam Tea-Lee told the story and sold it well. Call it showman’s honor, if you will. I become a shill for the house and pay for the privilege. So will you, given the chance.

Madam Tea-Lee talks a steady stream. I am impressed. Some of the lines are long; she keeps the line moving, keeps selling the ding to stragglers, and keeps the interest in the rest of the room high. When the last of the curious depart, she begins to remove the blades. Tea-Lee talks on the subject of this being a continuous sideshow. She points out the exhibits to the right side of the tent including the replica skeleton of Ling-Mae, the Chinese giant woman.

Uncoiled, Lady Diabla receives her applause.

Madam Tea-Lee introduces Prof. Chumley and leaves the stage.

The show goes on.

The Last Sideshow? Part 7

BJ is the Tennessee Tuxedo to Chumley’s...um...Chumley. Later, Ward Hall tells me BJ works for Abbott’s Magic Company in Colon, Michigan. BJ has presence. He delivers his script with enthusiasm, even the corny jokes. Except, he lacks confidence in his material, almost apologizing after each groaner, rather than enjoying the moment. This fault is not only his own. I see it everyday in my store. After practically every joke, one salesman follows with, “Just kidding,” or “Hey, come on now”.

Being an improved speaker over Chumley, BJ handles a longer set. His first introduction directs us to stage right and a four-foot square curtained box on raised legs. It is a classic sideshow illusion. BJ does all but blow dust of it when he opens the curtain.

“She has eight legs, and I think that’s great. You should see her dance a jig. The head of a beautiful woman, the body of a spider, it’s Spidora.”

Spidora’s visit is brief. Her appearance is especially confusing to the audience partially because she is a twin of Ms. Viva and partially because the audience did not listen when Prof. Chumley told us that, there would be “illusions in the show, you’ll know them when you see them, and they are just for fun.” I don’t know what the rest of audience was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

We move from Spidora’s box on one end of the stage to the other end of the stage and the guillotine. This is an impressive piece of apparatus. Well-worn and stained, (perhaps with blood) thick timbers make up the frame. BJ cranks up the heavy blade with a click, click, click. Ms. Viva returns, yet again, and puts her neck at risk.

At the top of its rise, the blade automatically releases. The blade crashes down. Like watching slow motion replay rather than real life, Ms. Viva’s head slides down into the waiting box.

“It was less bloody in rehearsal,” BJ says.

The now disembodied head does not float over stage and sing a song. It does not even roll down the stage and answer questions. Instead, BJ struggles with the box that seemingly holds Ms. Viva’s flesh pumpkin. Next to the guillotine is a chair and a board stretches between the arms of that chair. BJ seemingly dumps the head of Ms. Viva out onto the board. She speaks briefly with BJ, but apparently, this part of the script was left up to the participants. The tête-à-tête is mercifully short. Viva is re-boxed.

BJ gets to show off his talents, next. He juggles knives. In the half a dozen shows I watched, he dropped them-- every show.

Trying to fit twelve acts into a half hour has advantages and weaknesses. The poor acts are over before the audience can hate them. Mostly. But, the good acts weaken without time for proper build up.

The audience’s attention redirects to a side stage. The curtain opens to reveal a bed of nails. A large bed of nails. I never have seen such a densely populated bed of nails. It reminds me of iron fur. BJ tells us these nails are real. I believe him. I'm in the business. Will the rest of the audience believe him without evidence to the contrary? With the fakery already observed, they would do better to prove the menace of the spikes.

Lady Diabla, the heroin chic girl who was in the midst of the blade box when we walked in, mounts the stage to lie upon the bed. She does to little response. The lack of implied danger to blame. Tea-lee, a heavily tattooed and pierced beauty, joins the stage and sits on the prone Diabla. There is a smattering of applause.

Back to center stage, BJ turns over the show to Diane. She swallows swords. They are real and examinable (both the swords and Diane, I imagine). Diane gulps down the first and removes it. She then swallows the second one. She bends at the waist, mouth wide to display the blade’s path. Diane finishes by allowing an audience volunteer to slide the sword out of her throat.

Diane turns the stage over to the most abused performer in the group, Ms. Viva. This time she will tell the tale instead of being the object of it.

The Last Sideshow? Part 6

“Professor Chumley” is well named, with more than a passing resemblance to the cartoon walrus. The first of three inside talkers, he introduces the show. The audience only half-listens to his lackluster speech. Fidgeting, the audience hardly stands in the same position or place for more than a moment. They want the wonders promised outside.

Chumley spiels on the history of sideshows, the “illusions” in the show, and the working acts that make up the modern sideshow. He warns us not to try any of this at home after which he pounds an ice pick into his nasal cavity with the microphone. The pick is just as quickly removed and our attention is directed to one of the side stages.

To the left of the main stage, there are three smaller curtained platforms. The one of interest at the moment is a smallish riser with a tall, narrow frame. The curtain, we will find, hides the first illusion of the show, The Headless Woman. And it is a beautiful woman’s body apparently without a head, just a mass of tubes where her neck terminated. It was only a brief display and we are back to the main stage.

Our Professor oversees one more act, the electric chair. A young sleepy-eyed girl (Ms. Viva) decked out in a cocktail party dress joins Chumley. The electric chair approximates the death seats seen in old-time prison photographs. Attached to the chair is a large box that apparently is the generator or the regulator or the something.

Ms. Viva sits in the chair. Chumley turns the switch. He assures us that voltage is now coursing through her nubile body. The only indication that anything is happening is a small light at the top of the box goes on. To prove the supposed electrocution, Chumley retrieves a four-foot fluorescent tube and holds it out for her to touch. As she does, it lights. Dimly. He runs the tube up her arm and down her body to her foot and it continues to glow faintly. The act is over and the second mc, BJ is introduced.

Last Sideshow Photo 5

The Last Sideshow? Part 5

Okay, I admit the ending to part 4 was a little heavy handed. Outside, fantasy is sold on the bally stage. Inside, under the red and blue striped canvas, the show is the reality. The traditional freaks advertised no longer work the show. They are surgically “repaired”, surviving on disability or working the Iowa call center for Verizon. These days the tent shelters “working acts”, these are magicians, fire-eaters, sword swallowers, jugglers, contortionists, etc. But, let’s go in...

Entering the tent, I see red, no, not from anger. The inside of the tent is dark. What little light the gray skies emit on the outside filters through the red of the tent hanging a bloody pall in the air. The light lacks the strength to penetrate the blue of the alternate stripes. Those stripes morph into the black of an aging bruise.

The floor is a concrete slab. It is damp and pot marked with small puddles. This is not pleasant, but an improvement, one day earlier I would have been standing in a foot of water. A hail and tornado generating storm closed the first day of the fair. And, not wanting my head caved in by a baseball-sized piece of hail, kept me in my hotel room that night.

Running the length of the back of the tent is a long, narrow stage. On display, from end to end, are ominous cabinets their forbidden contents hidden by glittery curtains and menacing contraptions sure to be put to no good use. In front and a step down from the main stage is a smaller platform, about 10 feet wide and 5 feet deep, it holds one box, a coffin painted red and black with oriental dragons. Seating is not provided, the audience, numbering about a dozen currently, stands in front of that stage. They watch as a tattooed and heavily pierced girl removes several large spatula-shaped blades from the coffin.

Although outside repeatedly I heard since “I was in line, I was in time” but the “coffin” is one of the greatest blow-offs in sideshow history, the Blade Box. This is the end of the show. Yet, it is also the beginning. This show goes on and on and on. They are doing a continuous sideshow. Meaning from the start of the day to the end the day, excepting an hour meal break, the show never ends. We can roughly estimate: they are performing around 50 half-hour shows a day. On the bally stage, they repeat the talk around six times an hour that is 72 ballys in a twelve-hour day. To quote the show, “stay, when you see an act twice, you know you’ve seen it all; you can leave.” Think about that the next time you bitch about the length of your workday.

After the blades are removed, a slender, tattooed and, somewhat disturbing, blonde jumps from the box and takes a bow. She and her partner turn the stage over to the first act, Professor Chumley, the human blockhead.

Last Sideshow Photo 4

Ward Hall will happily let you see the show, if you have six tickets.

The Last Sideshow? Part 4

You might want to read part 3 just to refresh yourself. And read all the parts if you are here for the first time, otherwise part 4 will not make any sense.


“Six tickets. Six tickets to see everything in this big tent. My friends, you give the man right there your tickets.”

Fair Tickets are the currency of the midway. Cash payment is not allowed. There are several centrally located ticket booths. The postage stamp-sized, blue tickets remind me a little like the green stamps my parents saved when I was a child. They cost as much as 75 cents, but buy a sheet of 50 for 30 dollars. At the least, (60 cents each) the cost of admission is $3.60. A small price for all those acts.

But first, there still is a little business of the escape and Poobah’s fire eating....

“Now, watch the little man eat the fire, but watch the escape first. One...Two...Three.”

The escape artist turns away from the audience and removes the chains that bound him for the past 10 minutes.

“He is out. And here goes Poobah, right down the hatch, without a scratch. Say, its good ‘til the last bite. The hottest man in town!”

So, let us rip six tickets off our sheets and hand them to the stern (and quite scary) man at the ticket booth. And, as we head inside, echoing behind us the bally continues...

“Showtime! Line up right over here. Say how many. Go right in. Everybody goes now. Only six tickets. Special reduced prices to everyone this afternoon...”

Special reduced prices? Six tickets reduced from...six tickets? Ward never says reduced from what. Because the posted price is six tickets, there really is no reduction. Which brings us to an immutable law of the bally: you can say anything; if it sounds exciting, it will move the tip and the tip will forget everything once inside.

“Only six coupons, now. Line right up, say how many, the show’s on the stage. When you go in there, stay until you see the same act twice, in order to know you’ve see it all because it is a continuous performance. Going on all the time. It is show time. You come in and see them now.

“They’re here. They’re alive, onstage, those straaaange people. Come in and shake hands with a woman who is live and apparently has no head. Come in and see that strange spider girl. Watch the human blockhead drive nails into his head with a hammer. You may dance with along with the four-legged dancing girl from San Jose, Costa Rica, Miss Vikki Condor. Here, today, you’re going to see the escape artist, the sword swallower, the lady fire-eater, they’re all here and they’re all alive; entertaining now. The magician with his tricks of magic and here you are going to see our magician cut the head off a live girl in a giant guillotine. And then, as the head floats across the stage it’ll sing a song to you. Come in and pay a visit. It’s show time. It’s going on. Now’s a good time to go.”

Behind the stage, behind the banner line is erected a large tent, striped in alternating colors of dark red and dark blue. From the ticket booth, it is about ten steps to enter the tent. A purposely low hung awing makes it impossible just to walk in; you bend low, almost to the waist to enter.

This awing prevents the lot lice (freeloading fair patrons) to see a free show. It doesn’t stop a few from trying. Some are just the merely curious, children and a few adults, who want to peek at what strangeness the dark tent holds. The ploy doesn’t work and only adds to the intrigue.

It is the twilight zone. A mysterious place, a forbidden place, unless you have six tickets, and then you cannot stay, but only visit this dark side of this light world.

Or some bullshit like that.

Last Sideshow Photo 3

The Last Sideshow? Part 3

If you haven't read parts 1 and 2, you'd better or you won't understand what is going on.

Ward Hall is dressed for show, red pants, vest, and tie, powder blue tailcoat with sparkling silver accents, and a tuxedo shirt. He is a smallish in stature and looks like he could play the wizard in the Wizard of Oz. To carry the allusion further, Ward commands the stage and casts out a spell over the audience. He hardly seems 80+ years old. His love of the SHOW oozes out every pore and punctuates every sentence. Just a mere transcription of his bally does not do him justice.

But, I try...

Once the outside talker freezes the tip and has you waiting for the magician to escape from the chains and the midget to eat the fire, he begins the real pitch.

“Now these are only two of the many performers and strange sights that you’re going to see here at the World of Wonders, Palace of Illusions; the world’s largest fairground show. The first midway show to be invited to this fair in seventeen years.”

Talk about an up sell.

“Here you are going to see the things that are advertised and represented by the artist on these posters to the right and to the left of the doorway.

Today, you are going to see screwy Louie, the human blockhead, a man who drives nails and ice picks into his head with a hammer.

Susie Stretch, the rubber girl, who stretches her skin just like elastic.

You’ll be entertained by Voltara, the electric woman, who sits in a real electric chair. High voltage passes through her body; lighting torches from her fingers and a light bulb from her mouth, without any harm what so ever. She’s immune to the shock of electricity.

Today, from San Jose, Costa Rica, the world’s most unusual dancer is Vikki Condor; a woman who dances and is the only woman alive with four legs, four feet, and twenty toes.

From Germany, you’re going to be entertained by Unique Monique, a modern medical miracle; a woman who is alive and yet she apparently doesn’t have any head at all. I know that sounds incredible. It is incredible. And today, when you see the headless woman, you are invited to walk right up to her and extend your hand out to her; even though she has no head, she apparently can’t see you,she’ll know you’re there. She’ll reach out to you and, if you wish, you may personally shake hands with the headless woman. When you touch and feel her warm flesh, you are going to know, beyond any shadow this is a real woman, alive with no head.

Today, you are going to be entertained by the world’s champion lady sword swallower; you’ll see our lady fire manipulator, who drinks burning gasoline; the pain proof girl, who dances up a ladder of sharp swords, and you are going to see, from Newark, New Jersey, Juanita Perez, the woman who is probably the strangest in our show.

We call her Spidora. She is nineteen years of age, a high school graduate. This young lady has a normal head and she has a beautiful face, but that’s where normal and beauty ends because she has a body from the neck down that resembles that of an ugly tarantula spider. It’s not pretty and it’s not nice and when you look at her, it may shock you. But, she is someone you will talk about and remember for the rest of your life. And, if you have any questions about her, ask her. She is an intelligent, educated woman and will be glad to answer your questions for you.

This is a big show.

But, there is one attraction here, bigger than all the rest. She is here for this fair only, that’s why we have no picture of her out here. She comes from Beijing, China. Her name is May Ling. Perhaps you saw her on the news in the past week or read about her in the Pioneer Press, but my friends today; you can see here a woman who is probably the tallest human who ever walked on this earth. Standing eight feet, one and a half inches tall, you walk right up beside of her, so you can compare your height to that of the Chinese giant girl. And if you have a camera, bring it in with you, take a picture of yourself standing by the Chinese giant girl—at no cost—and you’ll have something to show your friends at home, of who you met and what you saw here at the strangest show on earth.

This is a big show. There is one small part of it, that’s the price of admission and that is only six of the fair tickets.”

Now that the tale has been told, it is time to turn the tip. Some of the tip will leave after the bally, but many, including you and me, will be paying our tickets and seeing the show.

Last Sideshow Photo 2

The Last Sideshow? Part 2

I shouldn't need to tell you, but if you haven't read part one, this part two will not make much sense. Part three should appear in about a week.


I am not the only one heeding the call of the sideshow banners. The banner line seems like it dropped out of its time and into ours and, thus, draws many gawkers. Little do they realize that the artwork is just the worm on the hook.

Under the center banners is the bally stage and what fish the banners didn’t reel in, the outside talker will. First please remember, if you want to be “with it,” don’t call them barkers. Call them outside talkers, spielers, or just talkers. Second, you need to know a “tip” in carnival lingo is a crowd of people. The talker’s job is to build the tip, freeze the tip, and then turn the tip.

Building the Tip

I walk closer and a small crowd forms up front, loitering, more away from the bally stage than to it. But, they are waiting, almost coyly, slightly tilted toward the stage in anticipation. Their wait will be brief; the talker wants to draw them in.

“Free show, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to have a free show right here. Right here on our front porch.”

The operative word being free. The crowd enlarges, but still steps away.

“We have a gentleman here who claims to be an escape artist. Well, I believe that. He evidently escaped to be here at the fair today. And, today he is going to escape from some chains. We’ll see if he can do it. Everybody come right over here and where you can see this and watch what we are going to do.”

The crowd still growing hypnotically follows their orders and moves forward.

“First, I’d like to tell you that this gentleman is Mr. Ralph DeMarco and Mr. DeMarco is a professional escape artist. Generally, he escapes from being trussed up in a straightjacket, suspended underneath a helicopter, but because the weather is rather inclement and unpromising. Today, instead of escaping from under a helicopter, he is going to escape from these chains. I am going to ask everyone to come right down here in close, because I am going to ask these young ladies here and this young gentleman to examine these chains. All solid? The chains are real, nothing trick or magical about them. This is not a magic trick.”

Of course, the women are satisfied that those are real chains and locks. Although there is something magical about them, they are a standard magician’s escape set-up. DeMarco let the audience members lock the chains around his wrists.

“Now, he is locked and cannot get free, but I will count to three and in less than thirty seconds he will escape, completely and thoroughly and freely. We’re not going to cover him up with a scarf. We are going to let you see him make this escape and I think it is something that will amaze you.”

The hook is now partially set, but now he will sink it in a little deeper.

“While he is getting all ready, I have a little man I am going to bring over here. Poobah, come here. And I want everyone to come a little closer because this is just a tiny little man, he has a tiny little voice, he refuses to shout at people because he says that’s just not polite. So please show him that courtesy, I thank you very much.”

Notice, he repeatedly brings the crowd in closer, but he always gives them a reason to move in. People will not just move closer because you ask them. They will move in if they see it is in their best interest. Moving them in also allows more people to fill in behind and force the inside group to stay for the whole story.

“Now I want you to meet this young man because he might be familiar to some of you.”

He is familiar to me, at least. Poobah or Pete Turhurne is a 76-year-old fire-eating midget. The story goes that Poobah was the youngest of all the 122 little people in the movie The Wizard of Oz, now he is the only one still performing. This statement elicits gasps from some in the crowd. He learned to eat fire when he performed in the 1966 Broadway musical, Carnival with Jerry Orbach. He is one of the people I am here to meet.

“And this afternoon, Poobah, will you eat the fire for us? Okay, he said he will do that for you, right out here. Now, we have the gentleman completely chained up, locked in there. Here are the only keys. I am not going to give them to him. I’m going to keep them right here, far from his reach. And, in a moment, I am going to count to three. He will escape from the chains and Poobah is going to eat the fire. Now these are only two...”

On the stage, a man has his wrists bound in chains and, we are to believe, at any moment he will attempt an escape in full view. There is also a three foot seven and three-quarter inch tall 76-year-old man with two burning torches that he will place in his mouth. You are surrounded by a crowd.

Where are you going? No where. No way.

Guess what? You are part of the tip.

Ward Hall just completed step two.

Consider yourself frozen.