RUDIMENTS, pt. 773
(the hunger artist)
What kind of a let-down is
it when you find out the tricks
Magicians use? It was a lot
of that 'country-fair' stuff that
I ran into that was what was
most interesting. It was still
petty vital up there, and those
country folk tended to believe
most anything if it was presented
to them in the right manner.
P. T. Barnum would have a
continued field day had he still
been around. Mermaids. Fiji
girls. Bearded ladies, and
two-headed men too. One year,
I remember, at the Chemung
County Fair (that covered the
county Elmira was in - out
of the old city limits, it turned
right back into snap-dragon
and daffodil countryside.
Fairgrounds and open
meadows for the choosing),
they dragged out this girl,
she seemed to be no more
than 12. Tanya Tucker was the
name, and she started belting
out this country crap like her
lungs were a'fire. I figured,
'Yeah, if this is the sort of
sentimental-attitudinal girl-sass
they like around here, she'll go
far. If she ever grows up.' Well,
she did - got pretty famous too,
but always remained, for me, a
bad memory, a real 'what are they
thinking?' blight. Any of those
fairs, the Troy Fair included, held
on a field that's now a sewage
filtration pool and plant, held
the same attractions, and the
hilltop locals indulged. Every
so often you'd get one of those
inbred kinds of character faces
coming around - dangerous
looking, like from out of some
weird, evolutionary backwater
they hadn't found yet. They'd
come down and start walking
around, as if a piece of bread, to
them, was a wondrous thing -
awed by the new satisfaction of
that taste. Forget cotton candy
and popsicles. I never knew where
they came from - since I did
drive a school bus along many
of the local dirt roads and up
and down the hills and hollows
locally, I thought I'd seen about
all the encampments that
sometimes passed for housing
in the really poor sticks; nor
did I ever see a tent for the
casting call for 'Deliverance'
the movie. Probably I just
missed it. Banjo, anyone?
Yes, it was like that. But these
kids must have been kept well
hid, or away from the population
of everyday life. Because I'd
never seen them anywhere, nor
the wrecks of parents too they'd
sometimes have dragging them
around. Gives new meaning
somehow to genetic deficiency
when I read about it now; having
scene the ending, I already know
the film.
-
When you get to one of those
magician booths, either the
'magician' is high and mighty
about what he's doing or he's
playing this everyday Joe Palooka
type who wishes to be your best
buddy immediately. That kind
was worse than the high and
mighties, I thought. They were
willing to compromise their lousy
tricks by eventually breaking
down to show some dumbo
type how it was done. That was
crazy. The Brotherhood of Magicians,
had they been present, would have
wrung their necks - I've known a
few of them since, and they are
some serious characters. I really
don't know what it is about 'Magic'
that transfixes people, but over
the centuries it's been some heady
stuff. Not just the alchemists' side
of it either - all that dross to gold
stuff was one thing, but current
with that was always this fascination
with transforming the natural world
into some sort of illusion. Rabbits in
hats. People getting sawed in half.
Floating cups. I never new what to
say but 'darn you me!' Most of
what I saw was junk. These
country fair people were the
bottom of the barrel and they'd
do their darnedest, for 50 cents or
whatever, to get you into their tent
for the next show. It was so boring.
-
Fact is, when you're going to throw
a show, or present a roving fair for
countrified hicks, you'd better
produce. A Ferris Wheel and a
cheap roller coaster aren't enough.
The tent acts need some real beef.
I never saw cheaper presentations
that at these fairs - monkeys that
walked and ate their treats on
command, and the poor elephants,
one or two, who'd be forced to spend
all day going round in circles with
some stupid kids on their backs.
Elephants have always gotten the
worst treatment. People will worry
more about their 12 ounce cat than
they do about how they abuse a
giant creature like that, and one
with sensitivity and emotion, and
probably a good brain too. I used
to try to imagine the insane torture
we put other creatures through, all
in the stupid-ass name of our own
'Humanity' and proclaimed better
wisdoms. What a crock. Centuries
of miserable torture for billions of
animals. It's disgusting and still
gets me angry. Humans are gross.
-
The Elmira Fair was one thing : it
was larger, better organized, and
got better attractions. The Troy
Fair, a mere 25 miles down the
road (Rt. 14) was another story.
It was almost an impromptu
mess with a bunch of lame jackals
in cars and trucks rolling in and
dragging all that equipment,
rides, and machinery - and
animal acts - from far away.
They'd be running the 'Summer'
circuit, following the season.
All the vehicles had Alabama
plates. Back then, in the mid-70's,
Alabama license plates had the
slogan on them, 'Heart of Dixie.'
Confederate flags and stickers.
These guys, some of them,
looked like they were still to be
fighting off that Civil War, not
just the memory of it, I mean
the whole thing. Real. I saw
them and all I saw was 'Menace.'
There was a baseball bat factory
just along the road some, and I was
always at the ready for getting
there in case of a flare-up of
some batting-of-heads sideshow.
But, actually, I knew also that
there was probably just as much
firepower around on that field -
the Johnny Rebs', ad the local
'Trojans' too. These guys, and
their women, another story there
entire, spent maybe Weds. and
Thurs. setting things up. It was
actually a lot of work, but they
all knew their stuff and had their
designated roles. Rides, tents,
booths, slides, food stalls, and
all the animal stuff - you name
the rest - they all went up
smoothly; and then the tryout,
making sure everything worked.
The Thursday night run-through
was a quick trip to happiness.
You couldn't do anything, it
was all just to watch. And
usually, by nightfall, they were
done, but you could still catch
a good glimpse, at deep dusk,
of what all that lights and activity
would look like for the next 5 or
6 days. Just add people, of course,
and the money-changers. Most
all of these guys eventually
began slow-drinking; the ladies
too. Hanging around their
campers or tents, waiting it
out with cigarettes and whiskey
and beer. They had plenty of
work to do, but it wasn't staring
until the next night. I never saw
any outright drunkenness or
mean fornication or anything,
but they were some real
characters, and straight out
of their own central casting
too. A week later, when
everything was done, it all
happened in reverse.
-
The heck with the fair itself -
it was just a cheesy noise and
crowd scene - we used to make
sure to get there for their arrival
and unloading of the animals and
acts, and then watch again at
the last moment as they all got
put away again, marched into
their travel- trailers and cages,
for their next engagement. My
wife and young son loved all
that stuff, and I did too, Tanya
Tucker notwithstanding. It gave
ma a glimmer of what I'd be
thinking about for the next
few days - how odd we live,
how discreet the things we do
that are really doing more hard
than good. People think more
about that stuff now than they
did then - there wasn't any
of that eco-awareness like
there is now. I often wondered
why we were even alive, with
all the useless stuff we did, as
people : bombs, poisons, cruelty,
audaciousness, gross habits,
loudness, destructiveness,
wanton and deliberate cruelty,
etc. It mad me just shake my
head.
-
There's an amazing and unique
short tale by Franz Kafka which
these fairs always brought to
mind. It's entitled 'A Hunger
Artist.' Many of the parallel
sensations I'd get from that
story were brought out as I
walked these yearly fairs. The
ellipses of performance and
response, exhibition and display,
and the interior motivations of
all those involved, in every way
they were involved - and most
importantly too, the spectators
and viewers who would come
to visit and gawk, and see all
this. Veritably, a sideshow as
real life. The Hunger Artist,
OR the real panther, one wasting
away, lost and emaciated, of
which no one has any longer
any interest at all; and the
sleek, beautiful, black panther
that replaces him, and to which
people flock. I think I always
kept one foot in each world.
Even here.
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