RUDIMENTS, pt. 648
(raise me up, dismal)
I never lived in one of those
real old-time towns where
the circus comes in early on
some fresh June morning,
a cavalcade of train cars
slowly disgorging elephants
and lions, tamers and clowns
and their whips and bicycles.
Beautiful ladies, the trapeze
kind, with made-up eyes and
tight-fitting clothing, form-fit
to every man's heart's delight.
The mechanical guys, the surly
clean-up men, the hawkers and
announcers and MC's. It must
have been wonderful. A lot of
towns like to pretend they used
to be that way; there are always
the old tales of the old days, and
they're usually just old fabrications.
I remember, right here in Avenel,
back about 1961 maybe, the local
priest, a Father Genecki, going on
in his foolishly romanticized way,
about how much he loved his new
assignment to Avenel and how,
to him it was like a small New
England town, where he could
walk the street, take in the air,
see the trees, and greet the locals.
It was all balderdash, but he used
to go at this, well, more than once
or twice. In my own, personal,
life experience, there was one
such place that may have fitted
that bill - Sayre, PA; but that
was back in the 1970's, and recent
trips there now have shown me the
changes. The old town square
gazebo and bandstand, on which
expanse I could envisions the old
circus tents and midway, up for
a Summer week or so. That's all
gone now, and replaced by the
usual. A successful open-heart
surgery, done here too, but
on the town.
-
Somewhere in the American
psyche there is kept an odd
qualitative difference between
the 'circus' - which often did
travel the same circuit - and
the 'carnival,' with 'carnies'
running town to town, usually
a week or two after the circus.
I can remember in Metuchen,
when there was an old ballfield
and some acreage unused, still
attached to the old, abandoned
school which long ago was the
high school (it's ALL gone
now, and replaced by an early
version of condo/group housing).
Whatever that difference may
have been, or not, Americans
made it. Out on the open fields,
twenty years ago, you could
still see the carnivals, with their
rows of trucks, Alabama plates,
trailers for rides, and construction
crews for putting it all together
and breaking it down, and then,
during the run, operating the
rides, selling tickets and vending
the food. They'd sleep in their
trucks and cars, zany and prolific,
oddball people, sitting out late,
smoking and drinking, in a sort
of hands-off fashion. No distinction
made, sexes mingled, whoever it
was with whoever they came with,
I guess. It was all just this side
of lawless. I remember back in
these days, Metuchen's Franklin
Field, the noise and the lights and
the spinning rides going on for
6 or 7 nights in a Summer row.
One year, our house, down the
street from this all, was broken
into and things taken, and strewn
about. I was pretty livid, and
wanted to go stomping around
killing the usual suspects, and
the police who arrived to tend
to the break-in report simply
shrugged, 'What can we tell you,
the carnival is in town. Keep a
watch on your things.'
-
Troy, Pennsylvania, out along
Route Six, they'd have their
County Fair brouhaha each
early Summer, and it was a
big-time event. (That field is
a sewer and water treatment
plant for the town now). To
those local farmer isolates, the
arrival of that fair each year
was like combining the circus,
carnival, and tent-mission all
into one. People came from
all around - emaciated, pale,
weird-looking farmer and hill
folk, straight out of central
casting for 'inbreeding' types,
outdoor swing-dance and
music types, reprobate and
revanchist miners and farmers,
alcoholic sons and brothers,
and probably parolees too. A
good time, forever. Up the
road in Elmira, some twenty
five more miles, they'd have
their same, larger, version of
this over in Eldridge Park. A
tad more sophisticated maybe,
in rural, country terms. I can
recall, whatever it may have
been, 1974 or later, a really
young country singer coming
in, maybe she was 14 (my
guess), with the name Tanya
Tucker. I thought to myself,
'What the heck? Where do they
think she's going, to stardom?'
Well she did. It was weird. I
forget the song that she got
known for, but it came right
out of that Summer's carny
appearances. Pretty Strange.
-
Being in the country was weird.
Over at Troy, within a mile of
that fairground spot that's now
a sewer plant, just up along
Route 14, there was a baseball
bat factory. Looking more just
like a lumber mill, there'd always
be trucks pulling in with long
tree trunks piled on, strapped
and looking like telephone poles.
It was one of those easy places
around to get a junk job if you
weren't or couldn't farm. All
they had coming in were Ash
trees, because evidently that's
the only, or maybe the best,
wood to be used for real and
regulation, baseball bats.
They'd cut and spin them
and lathe them and sand and
polish or varnish them up,
whatever it was they did, and
then they'd burn in that center
logo thing, the bat company
and all that. Up at the fat end,
whose-ever model bat it was,
that also would be burned in,
the guy's autograph too. The
baseball player who used
that style; and even if they
didn't really, they probably
just sold their names for
a bunch of money. It was
weird, and then in the base
of the handle or grip area -
whatever that thinner part
of the bat is where you grab
it, they'd burn in a weight -
ounces, like 32 or 34 or 36,
whatever various guys liked
to swing. I forget, now, what
it all was - Rawlings, or
Louisville Slugger, or
whatever. But I guess all
these bats got distributed
out from there, as something.
Whatever that town is too,
where they hold the Little
League World Series each
year, that was a little southwest
or Troy, and probably a good
market, and, also, don't forget
Cooperstown, another spot,
halfway north up into New
York State. Lots of magic
going on.
-
So, anyway, whatever the
difference may have been, if
there was one, between circus
people and carny folk, as I saw
it, had to do with crassness.
Mostly the carny guys just
seemed like rowdy punks,
first young and then the same
when they aged, but just older.
The circus people, I always
felt, were that way - gentler,
better, quiet, homier - because
of their tending to animals. It
was a whole other level of
responsibility and through it
people developed an entirely
different side of their character.
The Alabama punks were just
that (the license plates on their
vehicles used to say, 'Alabama :
Heart of Dixie'). People do
develop different parts of their
own emotional ranges, and
intelligence too, based on the
things they care for, and their
manners of going about
showing that caring.
-
Animals can do that to you.
That's the same as the grace
of those old American places:
the old towns along that rivers
and trails, small spots that grew
from settlement to village to
towns worth hosting a circus or
a carnival. Traveling, all.
Some places got 'em, some
never did. But watch your stuff,
the carnival's in town.
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