Everyone should have a circus story - or two

The upcoming circuses at Royal City (June 12) and George (July 4) encouraged Jill Baker, this paper's paginator, to wonder last week if I had a circus story worthy of a column.

Yes I do, more than one.

The best circus I ever attended was Circus Vargas in Yakima a couple of decades ago. I'd never seen a circus so big. It had everything, from midgets to giants, from ponies to elephants, from fire eaters to trapeze artists.

The second best circus was Circus Circus in Las Vegas, and that was because it gave me a chance to rest. It was the first Las Vegas trip for Pat and me, and we were accompanied by our children.

We didn't go to gamble so much as we went to see. Mostly we walked around, day and night, observing the sights, viewing the lights.

I was dog tired when we arrived at Circus Circus one afternoon. The kids enjoyed it immensely. Yea for me. I just sat.

My first experience with a circus occurred right next door to our house in Granger in 1958. I crossed the fence, right after the circus arrived in its 1940s and 1950s trucks, to get a back stage look.

I was offered a job. The pay was free tickets. Later when I told Pat this story, she said a couple of her brothers had done the same thing at the same circus.

While I was there helping, I noticed  a python snake in a glass enclosure. It had a big bulge just behind the head. I thought something was wrong. So I asked.

"No," the man said. "He just ate. That's a whole chicken."

We had chickens, lots of them in a coop in our back yard. Made me wonder, but I didn't ask. I was only 13, and all around me were crusty, greasy adult men.

I learned that day that there is no clowning around before the show. Everybody works on the setup. And sometimes people become testy.

A fight broke out right in front of me. It ended when one man hit the other with an elephant hook and ran for the hills. Nobody died,  but the police were called.

I crossed the fence back to the house - without my tickets - thinking I was done with that incident. But a short while later, the police were at my house interviewing me.

My best circus story was really my father's. He was seven when P.T. Barnum brought his show to Silver City, New Mexico.

Dad followed the parade from the train station to the setup area across town, marching in step with the band music. When it stopped, he found the manager's trailer and walked in. The manager had to lean over a tall counter to ask Dad what he wanted.

"I want to work for the circus," he said.

"You're too young to join the circus," the manager responded.

"No, I want to work for you here."

"But you're too small. There's nothing you can do."

"Maybe I can sell something."

The manager gave in and had Dad selling peanuts at that evening's show. My grandmother, Bernabe, who walked Dad to the show, waited for him outside.

Dad's pay was a commission of 15 percent, and he went to the manager's office after the show to settle up. He learned he had not earned a cent.

Actually, Dad had lost money. Spectators stole most of his peanuts during the moments he took peeks at the show.

Dad apologized and turned to walk out of the manager's office. Before he could reach the door, however, the manager stopped him and handed him a quarter.

"I said you didn't earn anything, but I didn't say you don't deserve something," the manager said. "I like your spunk, kid. Come and see me next year."