9/4/2005 - The Wizard of Odd

There we were, mid afternoon on the midway, bellies full of corndogs and soda, kids having seen every cow, chicken, sheep and pig's butt in the county, having ridden on so many rides that the boy on my shoulders was exhausted. That's when we approached the rows of gaily painted banners, boastful of exhibits that we knew we'd never actuallly see, and a few that might be easy to pull off with a crowd of tired, easily entertained corn dog eaters.

There was Poobah, the 75-ish dwarf, looking wonderfully twisted, standing next to a leopard-print outfitted young blonde, and a gruff looking, tired man doing a slow, painful bally. I knew he was Chris Christ, partner to Ward Hall, the owner of the sideshow we were standing in front of, but his personality led me to believe he'd be very little help to a rube asking him if Ward was back from his walk.

We had seen Ward briefly, in the throngs milling along the midway, as he was going south and we north. I must admit it was his ears that first attracted my eye, jutting out from his balding head like two potato skins, but it was his bright red slacks that confirmed his presence and identity as he disappeared into the traffic, maybe heading for some lunch at the concessions we'd just come through. I said, "That's him!", and my wife urged me to follow, but I let him go... a carny should enjoy what little free time he has between acts.

We gave Chris our $8.00 for the four of us, and I know I was staring at him a little too closely, because he eyed me with a mix of suspiscion and disgust, or maybe disdainful indifference, I can't say. We entered the tent, and the world suddenly turned bright orange, and quite empty. Gone were the exhibits that we'd seen last time around, except for the giant Chinese mummy. I felt a wave of horror, as the words of the fat man, Bruce, echoed in my ears from two years' ago... "Most of the gaffs are for sale on ebay... the show is closing this year." Looked like he was right... there were a few makeshift stages on three sides, with some familiar props.

The show began, with two charming but slightly dusty young ladies, alternating performances... walking up a sword ladder, twisting a head, getting sliced in pieces, posing as a spider and a snake with human heads. Then, there was John, a blockhead whom I recognized from 2003, who did his thing with an icepick. Beside some choice pics for Ward to autograph, I also brought a cool shot of John sleeping at the entrance to the show from two years ago, with a python curled around his arm. To me, it was a fine portrait, not just in terms of color and contrast, but of a working, tired carny trying to catch a brief nap between blowoffs, trusting enough to let a big snake crawl over him while he snored.

I cornered him after he left the stage, and quietly pointed out the picture to him, which he found amusing and less-than-flattering, and promised an autograph as soon as he was done, as he was pitching a $1 blowoff show in another room of the tent, for anyone interested in seeing a guy pushing needles around in his flesh.  I wasn't, as I was keeping my family in that hot tent way too long, but my wife urged me to stay, as they were going to get some drinks. She knew how important this day was to me, and left me alone in a tent full of... nothing.

The blowoff act was going on behind some tent walls to my left, and I watched and waited for John to reappear. Some folks milled out of the show, perhaps finding it too gross or boring. Then, another show started, and the two dusty ladies began their pitch once again. I stood off to the side, waiting for something to happen, when I spotted him again... the red pants walking slowly past a slip in the rear tent wall near the living quarters backstage.

A split second passed, and my mind raced through options until I let go of logic, and headed straight out the back flap. It's always easier to ask forgiveness than get permission in amoment like this, though I was sure to stopped by someone.

I wasn't.

"Mr. Hall?", I asked, and the old man spun on his heel and smiled broadly.

"Well, hello," he began, thrusting out his free hand, "How've you been?"

We'd never met, but this was a man in his 60th year in the carny biz, so I guess being genial had gotten him more opportunities than otherwise. I immediately shook his hand, and was put at ease by his warmth and good nature, in spite of his being accosted by a weirdo in a flaming skullcap approaching him outside his trailer. Or maybe, it was a disarming gesture that had kept him from being assaulted by nuts over the years. Either way, there we were... fan and icon.

I told him how inspired I was by him, and how I'd been to his shows over the years since I was a tot, and how I was preparing a sideshow attraction back in Jersey with a monster theme... he seemed to be interested, and looked at the logo on the booklet I prepared for him, a scrapbook of photos of the various gaffs and banners I'd designed for my sideshow.

"Dr. Slickshill's Sideshow of Monstrous Oddities... very nice... yes, that's a very good name." he said, flipping through the pages. I thanked him, and assured him that he could peruse the book at his leisure, to let him off the hook of hanging around with me too long... he appeared to be carrying a large stack of newspapers in his arm, and it didn't look comfortable. I produced the photo I'd wanted autographed, and he said he'd never seen it before, so I offered him copies that I'd brought for just such an instance, which he gladly accepted. I told him they were from a website of a Florida newspaper, and he signed it with great care and finesse.

He asked if I'd ever seen the museum show, and I said yes, several times, most recently in 2003 during the retirement tour. He assured me that it was all still intact and in storage down in Florida, where he lives when he's not on the midway. This was a great relief to me, as it offered the hope that maybe I'd get to see it all one more time, maybe next year. Then, he offered me a paper, just as John came back to join us.

"Look, Poobah made the front page," he said, and offered another paper to John. There he was, the 70-ish dwarf, eating fire on the cover of the morning paper. Ward turned back to me and said the single coolest thing I'd heard that day, something that put me completely at ease and for just a fleeting second, I felt part of the great carny conspiracy.

"I got this whole stack of papers for fifty cents!" he cried, and we all laughed. John mentioned something about the pictures I'd shown him earlier, and suddenly, Ward was gone... the wizard had disappeared behind the curtain, to the sanctity beyond the door of his trailer.

I gave John his picture, and he signed the other for me. We talked a bit about my sideshow, and he made some suggestions as to how I could go about expanding on the idea, something about approaching Six Flags with the idea. It really didn't matter what he said at that point, however constructive it was... I had just shook hands and got a fleeced newspaper from Ward Hall, the King of Showmen... John could've recited an egg salad recipe and offered to let me into the trailer with the naked snake lady, and I would still be in la-la land over meeting the wizard.

On the ride home, I showed my kids the autographs, and my wife said, "You know, they were hiring... maybe you should've brought some of your stuff to show him."

I smiled, and explained that I had done just that, and suddenly the thought of producing gaffs for the King washed over me in one of those rare moments of bravado.

"You know", I said, beginning a design project in my mind, "That snake-girl gaff looked pretty cheesy..."