www.clownflower.com

The Age

Derek Ives loves the idea of a bottomless Bucket of Love, says Fiona Scott-Norman.

HOW can you tell when it's time to step up to the next level? Maybe when your mum buys you long pants, perhaps when you're lapping your peer group in the pool, definitely when the world is going to climate-change hell and you're running a country. Performers can often tell when it's time to step up and do their first solo show when the voices in their head won't stop shouting at them.

Derek Ives, one of Melbourne's most interesting physical performers, is about to do his first solo show at Melbourne Fringe. It's a clowning show called Bucket of Love, directed by Azaria Universe, and, according to Ives, the impulse to finally go it alone was overwhelming.

"I'm making this work because if I didn't, I don't know what I'd do. I feel like if I didn't make it, it would kill me. It's like a cartoon I can see in my head that I'm trying to make as manifest as possible. It has to come out."

It's also for Ives an acknowledgement that he's reached a point in the development of his work and characters where he needs to explore on his own. One half of the absurdist comic duo Wild Duck, and a founding member of the cabaret/clowning/acrobatic group Candy Butchers, Ives has been clowning for 12 years, and always been playing around with modernising the archetypal European clown. Now it's time to focus.

"I had to get rid of those pesky acrobats, they get in the way of proper art. Not that my show's proper art. But when we were making shows the acrobats would be saying. 'I want to do this trick, and this trick, and then do a handstand on a pile of bricks'. And I'd be saying. 'I want to explore Albert Camus' theory of the absurd, and his notion of an indifferent universe', and I'd end up having to make vignettes within a larger show."

Ives has taken some of the vignettes and characters that he's already created and melded them with new work to create Bucket of Love, a show featuring two clown characters - Gustav and The Gravedigger - a nasty wheelbarrow, hungry suitcase, vindictive toilet, an edgy bicycle, an eternal quest for truth and beauty, and more whimsy than you can fit in a trick car that usually accommodates 18 clowns.

"I've called it Bucket of Love because it's the one thing in our lives that is bottomless. If you have hope, it's the only thing that's refillable. The bind of human nature is that we continue to have joy in the world. The Gravedigger marries a shovel and accidentally kills it. I keep returning to this theme, that we accidentally lose the things we love. We think we have control in the world, but we don't. The ideas in this show are pretty big. If I can get people to laugh and cry in the same show, I figure that's a good mark to be hitting."

Posted by /0/ at 03:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

There were many obituaries on Marcel Marceau and it would have taken forever to post them all, but this one was particularly compelling to me as it focused on his clown-ness .....  

The Economist

WHEN the spotlight faded on Bip last week, leaving not even a hand or a flower illuminated, it caused only a sigh of surprise. Bip had tried many times to put an end to himself. He would cut his wrists with a blade, nicking and wincing away from it, in case his copious blood gushed over his pure white sailor's trousers. He would shake out into his palm a handful of pills from a bottle, open his wide red mouth, and fail to swallow them. Stepping on a chair that wobbled under him, he would knot a noose round his scrawny neck, test it, yank it, gyrate his neck like a pigeon and step out into the void. Nothing worked. He went on living.

That he should wish to die was also not surprising. Often he was kept, crouching or standing, in a small cage on the stage. One by one he ran his hands along the bars until, with all his strength, he pushed two apart and jumped nimbly out; but then, right ahead of him, behind him, all round him, he found his palms flattening against a wall of glass. Each cage was contained in another. His hands often became birds, flickering and fluttering out of his sleeves, and he made them fly swiftly from their prisons, laughing as they flew. But the bars soon closed again round him.

Like all human beings, he dreamed; but his dreams were rarely successful. He hunted butterflies with a darting net, only to break their wings. He plucked flowers, then picked their petals out, and was surprised they died. When he tried to tame lions, they ate him, scorning the thin hoop he flourished in their direction. He walked against wind and made no progress. His black-ringed eyes and black-lined eyebrows registered sadness, wonder, perplexity and terror. But he did not know what malevolence was. He was, said the man who knew him best, a romantic, a Don Quixote tilting at windmills, and “alone in a fragile world filled with injustice and beauty”.

To the naked eye Bip had only the clothes he stood up in: trousers, jacket, soft ballet shoes, striped jersey, and a crumpled opera-hat topped with a red flower. His lean limbs and white face were his only language. The spotlight played on him, and nothing else. Yet the silence around him was filled with chairs, tables, animals, trunks and escalators. It swarmed with lounging waiters, officious policemen, dog-walkers pulled to right and left of the path, old ladies knitting. Railway trains roared through, and Bip, bouncing and swaying in his seat, struggled to keep his suitcase from falling out of the rack. The sea flooded in, bringing a ship that could take Bip on his constant travels to America, to Japan and to Australia, and he staggered manfully up and down the pitching deck.

He was born, some said, in the Paris acting school in 1947, bred by Jean-Louis Barrault in “Les Enfants du Paradis” and raised at the tiny Théâtre de Poche in Montparnasse. Others made him far older, dating from the Athenian drama and the Japanese noh plays, via the commedia dell'arte and Charlie Chaplin. Parts of all this went into the making of him, as well as the imaginings of the young Marcel Marceau, in Strasbourg in the 1930s, trying on his father's long trousers and contorting his body to make his friends laugh. His name, Bip, came loosely from Dickens's “Great Expectations”. His hat, flower and sailor-costume solidified over time.

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Angels can Fly includes a mix of fiction which follows the adventures of ten clown characters, some personal clown anecdotes from clowns around the world, a total of 50 practical clown exercises, and some theory on the nature of modern clown. The book is available on order through bookshops and online stores in New Zealand, Australia, America and England.

"Clown is a fascinating, diverse, complex and exciting art form, which has existed around the planet for thousands of years. Like any art form it has to evolve to stay relevant to the culture nurturing it, and at the same time, and by its very nature, clown teases and turns upside down the cultural patterns and boundaries around us."

You can find the paperback on Amazon by following this link: http://tinyurl.com/9nrwj And check out more information at: www.alanclay.com where you can still get a free copy of the e-Book.

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A cell phone photo taken last Sunday at Newport on the Levee. 

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Branson Daily News

By John Cockroft

Hundreds are enjoying the 50th anniversary of the Branson United Methodist “Ham and Bean Dinner” this week. Prizes are being awarded for the best photograph of 1957, the year the annual event began.

For Thelma Scowden, 78, of Branson, perhaps the best pictures of that year are in her memory.

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SacBee.com

By Dixie Reid - Bee Staff Writer

In the words of the sad-faced clown, "Some people have forgotten the sound of their own laughter."

And this tottering old man, dressed in his nightclothes, a walking cane draped over his trembling arm, is here to remedy that. His name is Grampa.

He's a part of the 137th edition of Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, which continues its Sacramento visit with three performances today and two Sunday at Arco Arena.

"There will be people coming here who need to feel like they're 6 years old again," Grampa says, "and this is the only place I know where they can truly experience joy, maybe for the first time."

The philosophical geezer is in reality a lanky 40-year-old former street mime from Albuquerque, N.M., named Alan Ware, who grew up being afraid of clowns.

"They scared the heck out of me," he says.

He joined the circus 10 years ago -- at the behest, he says, of his mime coach, the legendary Marcel Marceau.

Ware calls himself the last of Clown Alley's sad sacks.

A mime operates out of pathos, and Ware brought that tradition with him to the circus, basing the gentle, sympathetic Grampa character on his former father-in-law, who suffered from dementia.

"I began to add touches of confusion, like my father-in-law had experienced. It was easy for Grampa to get lost and not know where he was, even in the circus ring," Ware says.

"There's not a lot of gimmickry to him, no flash or pizazz. Grampa is the Everyman we're all going to become someday."

Ware is making his fifth visit to Sacramento since 1998 -- each of the circus's units is on a two-year tour -- and he's always glad to return to Arco Arena because of its unique Clown Alley. That's where the clowns store their steamer trunks and footlockers, and put on their makeup and costumes.

This Clown Alley is unlike any in the country's other arenas. (The circus has been staged in buildings since 1956, when the last of the big-top tents came down in Pittsburgh. It's in the long, dead-end tunnel that was built to connect the arena, which opened in 1988, to an adjacent football-baseball stadium that was never built.

Overhead at its mouth, chalk drawings depict a clown, flying pies, the peak of an old- fashioned circus tent and a Batman-style bat, because the clowns call it their Bat Cave.

Anywhere it is, Clown Alley is a sacred spot.

"I can't take you in there. It's a rule we have," Ware says. "That's where all the magic takes place."

But he allows a quick look at the tunnel's corrugated metal walls, which are dotted with "graffiti" left behind by visiting clowns.

"This is what I like about coming here," he says. "There are scant few of these people still around anymore, and it's a good way to say hello to old friends."

As much as clowns are icons of the circus, so, too, are the animals.

They all came to town by train from their last stop, in Stockton, and are housed on one of the arena's far-flung parking lots, protected by huge carport-like structures.

The cats are sleeping, as they're prone to do. Fourteen Bengal tigers -- in shades of orange-and-black to golden and snow-white -- are sacked out in their wheeled cages. The 400-pound Julie stretches, yawns and snorts a bit before falling back to sleep. Della is up on her shelf, a sturdy piece of lumber, with her big feet hanging off the edge.

A couple of Grant's zebras, born and bred in Missouri, vie for attention from anyone who walks past. The circus horses -- shiny-coated Arabians, Nor- wegian Fjords, paints and Friesians -- stand patiently in their stalls, awaiting showtime. Semi-retired miniature horses and a small herd of goats will make their appearance in the circus's opening parade.

Meanwhile, it's bath time for the 10 Asian elephants.

The 51-year-old Baby appears to be dozing off while six members of the circus crew shampoo and scrub her with wire brushes.

The elephants are bathed daily with a vegetable-based shampoo to keep their hides clean and exfoliated, says Carrie Coleman, a veterinary technician with a degree from Purdue University who travels with the show.

While the others wait for Baby to be done with her shower, 46-year-old Siam, who is a little impatient, uses her trunk to snort up soap suds making their way to the drain and splash them on herself.

She gets one final rinse before the elephants are turned out into an area covered with hay and sand -- which they, of course, immediately throw onto themselves. The cleaning crew will dust them off with a leaf blower before the next performance.

A behind-the-scenes presence whenever the circus is in town is retired professor Murray E. Fowler, who in 1968 established the world's first zoo medicine program at the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine. The Sacramento Zoo named its new veterinary hospital for him.

"I'm on call, and I watch them come off the train and then go back on," says the man sporting a bolo tie bearing the figure of an elephant.

Meanwhile, back inside the arena, sparkly costumes hang neatly on racks, hula hoops are all lined up, the floats are queued, the tigers' performance platforms are stacked and ready to go, the members of the circus band are tuning up, Grampa and the other clown characters are in their secret place, the popcorn is being popped, and soon, very soon, the show will go on, one more time.

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CNJonline
Clovis, New Mexico

Dale “Gizmo” McCracken keeps his audiences guessing every time he steps into the arena.

Sometimes he’s dressed as an overweight country police officer, other times he’s a long-haired rock musician, a safari hunter or a horse head on a man’s body.

These are the characters inside McCracken’s head when he’s working the audience as a rodeo clown.

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The Columbian

Clark County, Washington

Business name: Clown-A-Round, Vancouver.

Owner: Ruby Sowder

What the business does:

Provides clowns and fictional characters in costume for business picnics, children's parties, or any other social activities where children are in attendance.

The clowns do magic, balloon art and face painting, and of course, interact with the adults and children.

The fictional characters, in full costume, can be picked from a list that includes Spider Guy, Bat Guy, the Easter bunny, a friendly purple dinosaur or Santa Claus.

Greatest challenge: This business is so much fun there aren't really any major challenges. Sowder just wants to make sure the parents and children are happy.

What's ahead: Adding more characters, about two new characters a year.

Telephone: 360-573-2170.

Web site: clown-around.net .

Established in Clark County: 1989.

Hours: 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. daily.

Posted by /0/ at 11:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

News Herald

(Northeast Ohio)

"There are clowns - and then there's you."

That's what event officials thousands of miles away in the United Arab Emirates told funnyman Ron Fowler of Wickliffe when they hired him to clown around at the 2007 Dubai Summer Surprise citywide festival.
Fowler, aka Flower Clown, is an upbeat, animated, friendly guy whose success as an entertainer has spread from local gigs to those around the globe.

Fowler, 38, claims to have been somewhat shy in earlier years, but after transforming his appearance with colorful makeup and the bright clothing of a modern-day jester, another personality blossomed.
"I'm a totally different person," he said. "When I put the costume on, I can talk to anyone. I'm dressed up, and no one knows who I am."

International commercial photographer Herb Ascherman chose Fowler to be included in his exhibit of "100 Most Odd and Interesting People," on display at Cleveland's Western Reserve Historical Society.

"Not only is he a master craftsman at what he does, he's an international ambassador," Ascherman said. "His personality, his demeanor made him worthy of being in this project. He lives a good life and devotes himself to uplifting the human condition. His character and attributes far belie his comic exterior."

Engineering a clownish move

While growing up, Fowler's favorite childhood pastime was building Lego structures. His specialty was vehicles with moving parts and working pistons, which he raced against his brother's similar designs.

Fowler attended Leroy Elementary School and graduated from Riverside High School in Painesville Township in 1988.

An innate ability to build led to an interest in engineering, which he studied at Auburn Career Center. Later, he worked in related jobs at Cleveland Coin, American Greetings and the former Power Play video arcade in the Cleveland Flats.

His curiosity about clowning originated while he was observing a mime entertaining crowds at Power Play.
Wanting to try his hand at the craft, Fowler picked up some materials at John's Fun House on East 185th Street in Cleveland and began to toy with twisting balloons.

At first, he was satisfied with making dogs, balloons and flowers for family and friends.

But the combination of an eye-opening trip around the world in 1996 and '97, along with the inspiration of another clown who used a pump instead of lung power to inflate balloons, led him to exit the door of the corporate world and take to entertaining full time.

Previous part-time clown work at the former Dick's Last Resort restaurant in Cleveland provided significant exposure of his talent.

"From Dick's, it started to roll," he said.

He expanded his repertoire to include intricate designs from studying balloon Web sites. Leafing through coloring books and watching cartoons also supplied inspiration. Once, he fashioned the cartoon family from the popular television show "The Simpsons."

"I became a sponge and absorbed everything I could from everyone I could," he said. "As long as I can visually see something, I can copy it from my mind."

Flower Entertainment

As Fowler's reputation flourished, a packed schedule required him to turn down several appearance requests. He started referring potential patrons to other area clowns.

Eventually, Flower Entertainment was born. The enterprise, run by Fowler and his wife, Stacy Kern, provides a bevy of entertainers and services, including magicians, animal acts, disc jockeys, caricature artists, face painters, Santas, jugglers, puppet shows and more.

Jojo D. Klown, aka Jeff Reid of Perry, part of Flower Entertainment, speaks highly of the zany performer.

"He has such a positive personality, and that's really important when you deal with kids," Reid said. "I've been an entertainer for 35 years. There's enough adult entertainers out there; there's not that many for kids. Ron's one of those guys who's out there for the kids."

Fowler believes that to entertain youngsters at gatherings, it's necessary to keep older guests amused as well.

"If you don't keep the adults entertained, they're going to talk over you," he said. "The best thing to do is entertain everybody."

Winning over the more mature crowd doesn't seem to be a difficult task for the master merrymaker.

The father of twin girls at a party in University Heights paid him a compliment a few years ago that he still savors.

"You're my girls' N'Sync," the man said, referring to the very popular music group of that time.

Warming the globe with sunny smiles

A fascination with other countries and clowning's universal allure have prompted Fowler to take several trips abroad. His talents have drawn in thousands of people worldwide, and in turn, he and his wife have developed an international circle of personal friends.

Schools in England, orphanages in Egypt and circuses in Nepal are among venues where he has performed.

At the aforementioned Dubai Summer Surprise, he spent several evenings teaching locals how to make balloon flowers and performing magic shows inside the city's latest and largest shopping mall.

He also donated services at area hospital pediatric wards and the opening of an all-girls school. Clowning at an orphanage was an experience he won't easily forget.

"For one, they don't get any kind of entertainment," he said. "There's no television. When I showed up, they're all in the room with me. The smiles ... they couldn't get enough. They didn't want me to leave. When I did leave, they were all smiles. It's great to know that for one day, they were happy."

Fowler's sensitive character is also displayed through his caring approach to area children.

Paula Garbo, a special-needs preschool teacher at Broadmoor School in Mentor, has known Fowler for several years and says her students have shared many smiles due to his work.

Because many are afraid of costumes and masks, Fowler lets them observe while he applies his makeup and transforms into Flower Clown. That eliminates much of the fear factor, allowing for sheer enjoyment of his act.

"He just works really great," Garbo said. "They really, really (pay attention) to what he's doing. He holds their interest really, really well."

Popping into the future

Eastern Asian influences displayed throughout the couple's home tell of their attraction to that part of the world. Fowler said that the "compassion and peacefulness of it all" enchants them.

After their recent marriage in Wickliffe, a second ceremony took place in Nepal. Because two Americans being married in the Asian country rarely occurs, the event was noted in four local newspapers.

The pair eventually would like to live and work overseas during the winter months, while spending summers in Lake County. Fowler notes that his sister would take care of Flower Entertainment in their absence.

For now, he continues to be a popular top banana at loads of parties and community events around town.
His secret?

"You've got to be entertaining first - and you've got to love it."

To reach Flower Entertainment, call (440) 944-0278 or log on to www.flowerclown.com.

Posted by /0/ at 11:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

North Fort Myers Neighbor

Two local men recently attended the Southeast Clown Association Convention and swept some significant awards.

Kent Sheets of North Fort Myers and Phil Reigelsperger of Cape Coral recently attended the 26th Annual Convention held in Lexington, Kentucky.

Posted by /0/ at 11:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Daily Star

Street art gets a shot in the arm with Patricia Habchi's 'In My Sunday Dress'
By Suzan Crile
Special to The Daily Star

BEIRUT: The practice of Beirut street art got another shot in the arm this weekend with three performances by the Silver Sand Factory. In the process, pedestrians were reminded what great fun a good clown can be. Patricia Habchi (a.k.a "Souad Feta-Silk"), an actress/clown who recently founded the Silver Sand Factory, did three performances of "In My Sunday Dress," her absurd and utterly enjoyable clowning routine.

The shows took place in Hamra (at Hamra Center, under Regusto) and Achrafieh (at ABC near the Bank of Beirut). They were scheduled as part of the Fourth Annual Beirut Street Festival, a month-long event sponsored by Zico House, in association with Bank of Beirut and the Culture Ministry.

Souad Feta-Silk looks nothing like Ronald McDonald. She does have the requisite red nose, though, along with circular black-rimmed glasses and oversized shoes, but the character looks more like an endearingly disheveled bag lady than the stereotypical clown.

Her act, "In my Sunday Dress," has a loose structure - a set-up, introductory remarks, a few routines, and a finale - but the interesting aspects of the show come from the gags on the sidelines, so to speak. If the entire performance was a continuous process of starting and stopping, it's the sum of all of these asides that made it enjoyable.

"In My Sunday Dress" began with Souad unpacking and arranging a bizarre multitude of objects, including an old cardboard box, a straw mat, a blanket, a mirror, bags of Christmas-tree ornaments and more bags of confetti. Finally she produces a long pole, a prop that perhaps alludes to the cane carried by the antique harlequins of the Comedia delle art tradition.

As she set up her stage, it became clear Souad's shtick is her utter lack of organization. One running gag was set up when, pointing to one side of the street, she told the audience, "this is front stage," and then, pointing to the other, much messier side of the street, "this is backstage," as if to justify the disarray.

She used this distinction throughout the show, feigning shock, for example, when a cameraman tried to photograph her in her private "backstage" space.

The rhythm of the performance was regulated by Souad's ineptitude. She made more than five attempts at her introductory remarks before saying anything. At one point, she stopped to shush a young man on his cell phone. At another, her routine ground to a halt because she became distracted by the bells jangling on her dress.

The parts of the act that got the best audience response involved the use of her main prop, the pole, which variously represented a flag, a gun and best of all, a horse. Using just the pole and her own movement, Souad played both a rider, using her arms and face, and a horse, using her feet.

The horse trotted and the rider was calm. The horse galloped and the rider's face went taut. The horse went even faster and Souad's face was transfixed in terror before, brilliantly, Souad's rider found a rhythm and started doing tricks on her imaginary galloping horse.

It was at once an impressive display of communicating through facial expressions and body movements and a hilarious, almost cartoonish charade.

What was clear by the end of the performance is that gestures can communicate an endless number and variety of things. The moment that best represented the power of silent communication came when Souad was unpacking her many props. She came upon a circular mirror, looked at it, paused, then put it behind her head and made an expression of innocence. The charade was clear: The mirror was a halo and she was an angel.

The audience laughed not so much because it was funny, but because everyone understood what she was doing, without her needing to say a word. Using an everyday mirror as a halo isn't funny but the audience laughed nonetheless because they got the reference and because it was the kind of silly thing that makes people happy. It's comedy on the most basic level, but then that's what makes it universal.

Posted by /0/ at 11:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Victoria Advocate

Ross Cunningham/Matagorda Advocate
Doctor Fun E. Bones the clown works on painting faces on a young girl during South Texas Project Nuclear Operating Company’s annual Family Day Picnic at LeTulle Park on Saturday, Sept. 15. Families also enjoyed barbecue, games and fun activities for the entire family.

ST 

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This is really cool. It's hard to see just looking at this image, but it was created on a computer using scans from pressed flowers.... click on the image to see the entire process detailed.... 

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Chicago Tribune

By Chris Jones | Tribune theater critic

Long an ace in the House Theatre of Chicago's pack, Dennis Watkins is a bona-fide magician. He learned his stellar skills -- card tricks, cup-and-ball routines, levitation, sawing himself in half -- from his late grandfather. Like actors, magicians are a sentimental lot. And "The Magnificents" reads as a theatrical love letter to a teacher of the old school, loved and lost.

Video preview here. 

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The Mercury News

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Joke of the day

Start with a cage containing five monkeys. Inside the cage, hang a banana on a string and place a set of stairs under it. Before long, a monkey will go to the stairs and start to climb towards the banana. As soon as he touches the stairs, spray all of the other monkeys with cold water.

After a while, another monkey makes an attempt with the same result all the other monkeys are sprayed with cold water. Pretty soon, when another monkey tries to climb the stairs, the other monkeys will try to prevent it.

Now, put away the cold water. Remove one monkey from the cage and replace it with a new one. The new monkey sees the banana and wants to climb the stairs. To his surprise and horror, all of the other monkeys attack him. After another attempt and attack, he knows that if he tries to climb the stairs, he will be assaulted.

Next, remove another of the original five monkeys and replace it with a new one. The newcomer goes to the stairs and is attacked. The previous newcomer takes part in the punishment with enthusiasm! Likewise, replace a third original monkey with a new one, then a fourth, then the fifth. Every time the newest monkey takes to the stairs, he is attacked.

Most of the monkeys that are beating him have no idea why they were not permitted to climb the stairs or why they are participating in the beating of the newest monkey.

After replacing all the original monkeys, none of the remaining monkeys have ever been sprayed with cold water. Nevertheless, no monkey ever again approaches the stairs to try for the banana. Why not? Because as far as they know that's the way it's always been done around here.

And that, my friends, is how a company policy begins.

Posted by /0/ at 06:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Final Taxi

Funny how you can go to a doctor’s offices and find magazines that are years old in the lobby. I had to go to a dentist two week ago and found a Golf magazine from the 80’s. I also found a magazine that told me the following story:

Decades ago, a young American was flying across the mountain ranges of Europe on his way to London. Accompanying his friend, a Catholic priest, the two were scheduled to have a meeting with the Pope in England. As the priest talked, the plane suddenly rocked. Then rocked again.
Something told the priest the plane was not destined to ever touch
land again.

The passengers, busy in their individual conversations, failed to notice, the priest observed, until a flight attendant made an announcement of impending doom. The plane was over a mountain range and losing altitude.

As expected, panic set in.

The priest loosened his seat belt, realizing he had but minutes to offer last rites to any who might desire them. His young friend, Richard, sat motionless, staring at the seat before him. The priest went about his duties.

Then, all at once, reality hit Richard in the face and he noticed that behind his seat and to the right was a child, two children, several children. If indeed this was to be the last moments of their short lives, Richard determined, he would make sure the children never knew it.

The young American rose to his feet and started to make faces at the kids. Horrible faces, ugly faces. Most of the youngsters laughed, but one did not. This boy, about the age of 5, became Richard’s focus. Richard stuck his tongue out. So did the boy. Richard did it again, making an awful face. The boy imitated him.
As the priest delivered last rites, Richard kept the children amused. None of them knew the earth was rushing up to meet their craft in spikes of ancient stone.

Meanwhile, the pilot had been amazed that the plane had cleared most of the rough crags that reached for the skies. One lone mountaintop was left to clear; their fate waited on its other side. By inches, the plane cleared that last mountain. What lay on the other side was a large cow pasture with soft, rolling grasses. The craft slid in on a cushion provided by Mother Nature - rough, but not the landing the pilot and most of the passengers had imagined.

Certainly not what either the priest or Richard had expected.

Those young children never knew how close they had approached Heaven’s gates, nor did many of them ever know the young, auburn-haired performer who kept that knowledge from them miles above the earth.

His name was Richard but we knew him as Red Skelton.

Skelton’s show business career began in his teens as a circus clown and went on to vaudeville, Broadway, films, radio, TV, clubs and casinos. He was also known as a painter.
It was 10 years ago when Red Skelton took his Final Taxi on September 17th 1997.

I remember Red as a child in the late 60’s. The Red Skelton Show began in 1951 on NBC as a comedy-variety show and then moved to CBS and made the Nielsen Top Twenty, where it stayed until its end in 1970 when it was cancelled. In the early 1980s a series of superb performances at Carnegie Hall received critical praise and briefly thrust him back into the public spotlight, but since his show seldom re-ran and is not syndicated, it is easy to forget his popularity. Based on longevity and audience size, The Red Skelton Show was the second most popular show in TV history (Gunsmoke is first).

I was recently talking to a twenty –four year old about Skelton and he did not know who I was talking about. That was a shame.

When I saw the story about him distracting the children on the plane I want Final Taxi readers to remember America’s famous clown.

Posted by /0/ at 06:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Nonpareil On-Line

TOM McMAHON, Staff Writer

 

If you get Reckless you'll Krash and see Dotz."

Dotz, Krash and Reckless are Tangier Shriner clowns, and Randy Horswill, aka Dotz, uses the line to send a message, but also make children laugh. That laughter is the best part of his part-time job.

"When I first started, I had a red and white polka dot costume," said the 1983 Thomas Jefferson graduate. "Some kids came up to me and said I looked like the clown from "It" (Pennywise, the evil white-faced clown from Stephen King's 1990 TV miniseries). I said, 'No, I don't,' but when I was applying my makeup in the mirror I thought, 'Oh, my gosh, I do.'"

 

The full-time heavy equipment mechanic loves entertaining. His outgoing personality suits him well, whether high-fiving Shrine Circus attendees, pedaling a bike with his too-big shoes or creating balloon animals at a child's birthday party.

"There is nothing neater than seeing a terrified child warm up to you and begin to laugh," Horswill said. One of his pet peeves is parents who force an initially fearful child to approach a clown.

"The kid doesn't know it isn't real," he said. "To some, we appear pretty scary. Forcing the child on us just makes it worse."

He prefers using his charm and tricks to eventually gain a child's trust. Dotz might break the ice by shooting bubbles into the air. "Kids love bubbles. That might open the door to a high five or stamping the hand with my name stamp."

Horswill, 42, said he's amazed at how many adults are still afraid of clowns. He points to Web sites such as ihateclowns.com that sports a "Can't Sleep, Clowns Will Eat Me," T-shirt. "The number of clown-bashing sites is unbelievable."

But, Horswill has never had clown phobia, and said for every 10 criers there are 150 smilers.

"As a kid, I remember seeing an old fire truck filled with clowns playing music. I thought it was so cool. And then I went to the circus and thought, 'How fun.'"

Horswill is obviously having fun. His face lights up when he talks about Dotz, Reckless, Krash or his other clown buddies.

There's Stinky, who applies his makeup so well that it doesn't smear when he jumps into a swimming pool. And Boing, who went through airport security in his clown gear.

"He had to strip down," Horswill said. "When he got most of the costume off he told authorities, 'There's not much left, guys.'"

Learning from other clowns is ongoing, he said. Horswill said there are clown colleges that teach clowning, but he has not attended. He has sat in on Shriner's clown classes and purchased videos to help improve his balloon making and magic techniques.

Horswill, who has been Dotz for the past two years, won the Shriner's Rookie of the Year honor last year. But, awards aren't his focus.

"They hold national clown competitions, but I am not interested in that," he said. "For me, it's all about having fun and making the kids laugh."

The newcomer clown said he is starting to be recognized by some children - one of a clown's proudest achievements.

"I will be riding my bike in a parade, and I'll hear a little voice say, 'Hey, Dotz, I know you.' It's like you are getting your own fan club."

Some children are so taken with clowns that the Shrine Circus provides the funny men their own bathroom, away from the public.

"Clowns have had children follow them right into the bathroom and come out and tell everyone they saw a clown pee."

Horswill said clowns are known by their look, and it is important not to steal another's identity.

"You can get ideas, but you need to do something different to make it your own."

Making it your own is not easy.

He spends about an hour transforming Randy Horswill into Dotz - 45 minutes is spent getting his makeup just right. Horswill said he shaves, gels and pulls back his hair, places sticky-note type dots on his face, paints his face white, pulls off the dots, pours non-sticking baby powder to set the makeup, paints in the dots with paint pencils, and holds a baby wipe against his face to remove any excess powder. Then there is eye and mouth makeup, attaching nose and wig, and donning his dotted costume.

But, it's all worth it.

"A lot of times after a performance, I will go to the Stephens Center (an Omaha homeless shelter) to entertain the kids staying there," Horswill said. "I figure I spend all that time getting ready - I want to make the most of it."

Clowning around comes naturally to Horswill.

"When I am in costume I am bouncing off the walls," he said. He stays in character while driving to and from his clown jobs.

He recently had a group of teens drive up beside his car at a stoplight. The teens waved and joked with the clown in the car. Horswill took out his trusty marshmallow shooter and popped a couple puffy treats into the automobile next door.

The teens loved it.

Mission accomplished.

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Hartlepool Mail
By Richard Mennear 

THE circus is in town and Mail reporter RICHARD MENNEAR jumped at the chance to clown around for the day in a bid for fame and fortune. Read his tale of slapstick comedy.

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Buffalog

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Collection of royalty-free stock photos featuring clowns  by Sharon Dominick 

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JPG Magazine photo feature by John Decker

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Henry Daily Herald

By Curt Yeomans
cyeomans@news-daily.com

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Community Press

ALEXANDRIA - People laugh and point at Tim Schweitzer as he drives by in his 1951 Crosley station wagon, so he turned it into a clown car for Alexandria's fair parade.

Schweitzer, 45, of Claryville, restored the Cincinnati company's classic car back to road-worthiness in 2006. The car is about twice the size of a refrigerator. It's difficult to discern when the car's four-cylinder, 26-horse power engine is idling or turned off.

"They just think it's so cute," Schweitzer said. "You go down the road and they're pointing and laughing, and that's when I thought of the clown outfit. I thought 'That will give them something to laugh about.'"

Schweitzer dressed up as a clown for the Alexandria fair parade, and also stuck a mock wind-up key on the back of the car.

He has a custom made bumper sticker on the back stating "If you can't run with the big dogs. Follow me."

Many people often mistake it for a foreign car, and don't realize it was made by Cincinnati inventor and entrepreneur Powel Crosley Jr., Schweitzer said.

Crosley built radios and refrigerators starting in the 1920s, owned Cincinnati radio and television stations, and the Cincinnati Reds baseball team. He made his own line of ultra-compact cars from 1939-52.

"It's just so nice to be able to drive a piece of history," Schweitzer said.

Schweitzer's father bought the car in 2005 in Norwood, where it had mostly sat in a garage since 1965.

Tim has a history of tinkering with cars, said his father, Jim Schweitzer, of Wilder.

"He's a heck of a mechanic," Jim said of Tim. "He can fix anything."

Tim built a go-cart from scratch, including the motor, when he was 14, and hasn't stopped since, said his father.

"It was a bucket of rust when he got it, but it's all new now."

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Tne Daily Record

Sept. 5, 2007

By DON GRONNING

Rodeo clown Keith Isley is one of the last old school rodeo clowns, a genuinely funny man in the arena, with animal acts and a banter that entertains audiences at all the major rodeos across the country, like Ellensburg.

    He’s a polite, reserved man, whose North Carolina upbringing comes across, both in his drawl and in his demeanor.

    Isley wasn’t raised around rodeo, but he was around livestock growing up.

    “I was raised on a tobacco farm,” said Isley, 49. “We used to use mules and on the weekends we would saddle up the mules and ride them.”

    His brothers competed in rodeo and he went along with them. He entered a few bareback and bull riding contests. But he soon found himself in the role of a clown.

    “I was at a little junior rodeo and a guy put makeup on me and took me out with him,” said Isley. “Mostly I was in the way.”

    But he started learning the craft, doing what clowns are best known for — distracting bulls from thrown riders.

    But unlike today, in the 1970s rodeo clowns were expected to still be clowns. Today, rodeo bullfighters specialize in bullfighting and leave the comedy to guys like Isley.

    Performing wasn’t the problem. In addition to fighting bulls, Isley had a comedy trick-riding act for years. But telling jokes and being funny on cue was what made him nervous.

    “I did not want to be talking in front of people I did not know,” he said. His first time to do it by himself was when he was fighting bulls with another clown, who got hurt. “All of a sudden I became a clown,” he said.

    He mastered the craft and put together an animal act to go along with his wise cracking. Today he travels the country with Cutter and Badger, his two quarter horses and Punkin, his miniature horse, along with his dog, Cooter.

“I left home in March and will get back in October,” said Isley. He used to trick ride with his wife, Melanie, but she stays home now. “She comes out occasionally,” he said.

    He figures he works well over a hundred performances a year at more than 40 rodeos in 22 states and, traveling 30,000 miles with his animals.

    His job is to entertain the crowd during the slow time in the rodeo. He also works the barrel during the bull riding, teasing the beasts until they charge it and knock it end over end with him inside.

    But the animal acts are his bread and butter and teaching the horses to lie down, pull off saddle blankets and do other other tricks takes time and patience.

    “It takes about a year to get one ready to use,” said Isley. He gave his most dependable horse, a 21-year-old paint named Amigo, the year off, leaving him back home in North Carolina..

    “If you take the old one, you’ll never start a new one,” he said. It is especially hard on him when one of his animals die. “I wish they would live forever,” he said.

    His full-sized horses are registered quarter horses, but Isley said that he doesn’t really need a papered horse. “I look for sense,” he said, and what they look like.

    The technology today makes his job easier. In the past, rodeo clowns had to shout their jokes up to the announcer, who would repeat it for the crowd. The clown depended on the announcer to get the set up and punch line right, which was always risky.

    “I was so glad when microphones came around,” he said.

    Some of the judges and pick-up men may not be so happy about Isley getting a microphone. They are on the receiving end of a good deal of his razzing.

    “That’s what happens when you get a rent-a-judge,” he says after one low-scored ride. “I think this guy is from Florida.”

    But for all the joshing, Isley said he doesn’t ever joke about someone who is bothered by the ribbing.

    “I don’t try to harass or pick on anybody that doesn’t like it,” he said. “And I recognize the judges have a job to do and I try not to interfere with that.”

    Isley has come a long way from the tobacco farm in North Carolina. His resumé is long and impressive.

    He has contracts at all the big outdoor rodeos, events like the Pendleton Round-Up, Cheyenne Frontier Days and the Ellensburg Rodeo.

    He was named the Professional Rodeo Association Clown of the Year in 2006, won the PRCA Specialty Act of the Year  in 2006 — an award he has won seven times — and won the Coors Man in the Can award for his work in the barrel.

    The recognition is rewarding, and he said he makes a good living as a rodeo clown. But what he probably likes best about the lifestyle is being able to do what he wants and not being tied down to any one job.

    After he worked Pendleton last year, he was offered a contract for as long as he wanted it.

    “I didn’t sign it,” he said. He wants to be free to do what he wants. “Who knows, I might want to do something else in a few years.”

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Lexington Herald-Leader
Sept. 7, 2007

By Delano R. Massey
DMASSEY@HERALD-LEADER.COM

On the surface, it looks like a goof-off's nirvana.

A room filled with colorful curly wigs. Balloons twisted into the shapes of four-legged creatures. Funny names on name tags like "Toe-Knee" and "Lil' Smidgen."

But it's not just about fun and games. The South East Clown Association Convention, held this week at the Holiday Inn on Newtown Pike, is about acquiring the tools to perfect the craft of "clowning."

This is serious business.

"People think you just throw on makeup and act silly," said Chris Burton, better known in the clown community as "PJ D Clown." "There's a lot more to it than that."

Clowning is a costly hobby. For some, it's a full-time job. But a common theme is just how gratifying the job can be.

The thought that being a clown is child's play is just one of the many misconceptions about clowns. Burton said clowns are misrepresented in movies and Halloween shops and that "absolutely" drives him nuts.

Years ago, his wife, Heather, was deathly afraid of clowns. She was done in by Killer Klowns from Outer Space and Stephen King's It -- two horror movies that portray clowns as sadistic, cruel characters.

Burton, 28, of Lexington, is agitated by those movies. He paced the floor and wrung his hands.

"Look how many adults and kids are scared of us because of those movies," he said, shaking his head in disgust. "It's crazy. It's just crazy."

He has since helped his wife overcome her fear and now Heather, also known as "Penelope," works with him.

Burton, a loan processor at the University of Kentucky Credit Union during the day and a clown nights and weekends, focuses on Christian Clown Ministry. He frequents vacation Bible schools and Christian birthday parties.

He has been clowning for more than 10 years.

"I think it's just the environment -- making other people laugh," Burton said. He chuckled as a Holiday Inn maid walked down the hallway, a sweeper in her right hand and a dog balloon in her left hand.

"It just cracks me up when I see the hotel staff with balloons because I know someone stopped them and handed it to them -- and who can say no to a clown?"

Clowns don't just have an epiphany one day and decide they wanted to wear a curly wig and size 26 shoes. Many get into the business because a clown has made an impression upon them.

For Dianna Hale, 60, the seed was planted when she was 9 years old. Hale said a clown visited her while she was in the hospital. She was in a coma, but could hear the laughter that filled the room. Clowning remained in the back of her mind for decades.

On a mission trip in the 1990s, she became a clown for the first time and acquired her other name, "Lil' Smidgen."

The Alabama resident retired from nursing in 1995 and went into clowning full-time. Four or five times a week she visits hospitals, day cares or birthday parties, or teaches classes. She's the president of the South East Clown Association, now in its 26th year.

About 100 clowns are taking the workshops and classes at the convention, which runs through Sunday. The 27 classes over the next few days include Comedy Juggling, Face Painting, Fun Games with Balloons and Clowning with Puppets.

"You've got some of the best people in the business here," Hale boasted.

Clowning has been lucrative for Bill Gillespie, a retired Navy veteran who was popular for his magic tricks. Gillespie got into clowning because he realized how much money he could make. He says he and his wife rake in about six figures.

"It's all how you market yourself," said Gillespie, who tries to do three or four shows a day at $100 to $125 a pop. "I've seen magicians who are a lot better than me, but they don't know how to market themselves."

But full-time clowns like Gillespie are rare. Most work another job and use their clown income, often between $25,000 to $30,000, as supplemental income. And for fun.

At the convention yesterday, few clowns were in costume. They wore blue jeans and khaki, button-ups and polos. They traded business cards in the lobby or floated into the dealer store to upgrade their accessories.

Those aren't cheap.

A good pair of clown shoes can cost up to $400. Clown pants, which are custom made by quilters, start around $125. Colorful derby hats and wigs are $20 or $30, so it doesn't take much to tally a large bill.

"To suit you from head to toe, it could cost close to $1,000, said Nikki Jones of TNT Costumes and Clown Supplies.

Paul Bransom, 45, said he spent about $100 for a small bag of makeup. "It's not a cheap hobby," he said.

Still, Hale said, clowning is something that you can ease into.

"Clowning has to come from the heart. If you have the desire or wish to help others, you are a clown," she said with a smile.

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From Boing Boing: A Directory of Wonderful Things

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The Neosho Daily News
September 7, 2007

By Todd G. Higdon / Daily News Staff Writer

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Canton Repostiory
Sunday, September 9, 2007

BY Saimi Rote Bergmann
REPOSITORY FOOD WRITER

LOUISVILLE - While other teenage boys hang with their buddies, playing in a garage band, 17-year-old Vince Salvino hangs with his dad, playing in a clown band.

While most teens struggle to blend in, 15-year-old Tony Salvino stands out. Way out. In a wig and size 22 shoes. 

Detroit Free Press
September 9, 2007

BY EMILIANA SANDOVAL
FREE PRESS STAFF WRITER

Dawn Wilson, aka Kuddles, is a wholesome hip-hop clown.

BRIEF BIO

Wilson graduated from Redford High in 1989 and spent two years in the Army as an accounting specialist, mostly in Germany. She lives in Detroit with her children, David, 14; Dannah, 7; Elanah, 6; Emily, 5, and Daniel, 2.

LIKE MOTHER

"Twenty years ago, my aunt wanted a clown and it was $50 an hour. My mom said, 'You are not paying that much for a clown.' And so she'd do it for our family picnics. She's Efee the clown. She actually had a clown ministry at Detroit Unity Temple.

"She's also a comedian -- she does grandma humor. She's my best friend. We talk on the phone like three, four times a day," Wilson said.

BECOMING KUDDLES

"Twelve years ago I took David to a Major Magic's and there was a clown onstage singing 'I'm a Redneck at Heart.' I was mad. I thought that was not appropriate. I wanted to create something good for children, so I started being Kuddles."

Kuddles and Efee often perform at festivals, schools and events. They paint faces, make balloon animals, clown around and dance.

Wilson also is working on a Kuddles CD.

"I want to bring innocence back to hip-hop. My songs promote peace, love and harmony."

Go to www.kuddlesthehiphopclown.net for more information.

IN CHARACTER

Kuddles and Efee wear cheerful outfits adorned with colorful hearts, stripes, flowers, pom-poms and sparkles.

"I make all my outfits, but I don't know how to sew. I know how to glue. It's all glued and painted," she said.

Wilson makes her mom's clown outfits and has made them for her kids.

LOOKING AHEAD

Wilson envisions a Kuddles empire.

"My dream is to open Kuddles' Clubhouse and have specialized parties. Say your kid wants to be a singer -- they'd write a song, sing it, produce it. All the characters would be African-American historical figures, like George Washington Carver with a big peanut head.

"Someday there'll be Kuddles Castle, a water park, Kuddles Cruises up and down the Detroit River. And Kuddles Kingdom, an amusement park in Alabama, because it's warm there."

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At 60, acrobatic juggler recalls starring in Moscow Circus and relocating to Brookline to start over with a US spin

Boston Globe 

By Steve Maas, Globe Correspondent  |  September 9, 2007

This is a story about a kid who ran away from home to join a circus - and about a man who exchanged renown in one nation for the chance to reinvent himself in another.

It's a saga that stretches from Siberia to Yawkey Way - and perhaps soon to a theater near you.

It features a little larceny, a lot of chutzpah, and amazing feats of acrobatic juggling.

(photo from benjaminthejuggler.com) 

He may be heading for a parade in Natick, a bar mitzvah in Needham, or a corporate party in Back Bay. When the Red Sox are in town, he often performs in the concourse at Fenway Park.

"It's for me a new life," Benjamin Elfant says. "I'm growing."

Elfant's latest stage is a movie set. He hopes to play a small part in "Pink Panther II," which begins filming this month in the Boston area. At a rehearsal last week, Elfant advised star Steve Martin on the finer points of juggling wine bottles.

"He's a good listener," Elfant said. "Maybe he'll use one of my ideas."

A quarter of a century ago, Elfant was a star of the Moscow Circus, wowing crowds and television audiences with such feats as juggling machetes - while standing on horseback, no less. But while he basked in the fame, he felt stifled.

"You had to be like a machine. You just smile. You cannot talk."

His role was acrobatic juggler, but "I was inside a clown."

Now that clown has been set free. As has the magician and the jokester. "I'm not only a clown," he says, "I'm an entertainer."

Elfant, soft-spoken and courtly offstage, punctuates his performances with a rapid-fire patter that makes one wonder if he learned English from Chico Marx.

"I need a small magician assistant," Elfant says, inviting a pint-size girl he recognized in an audience at a Newton playground.

"What's your name, Catherine?"

"Catherine."

"Applaud to Catherine. How old are you?"

"Six."

"I'm 26. I look 29, but I'm 26. Are you married?"

"No."

"I was married when I was 5."

Elfant came to America in 1991 with the wave of Jews who immigrated during the collapse of the Soviet Union. He supported his family by working at a Russian restaurant. Today, Elfant is living out his American dream - the latest chapter for this acrobat who always seems to land on his feet.

The sorcerer's apprentice

You could say that Elfant owes his existence to Hitler and Stalin - it was those two tyrants who brought his parents together.

At the start of World War II, his mother, a Jew, was evacuated from Moldova to Siberia, where she was put to work digging in the mines. She and a sister were the only members of her family to survive the war; the Nazis shot her parents and 11 siblings.

Elfant's father was a Romanian Jew who also lost most of his family to the Nazis. He fought for the Soviets, but after the war, Stalin rewarded his Romanian soldiers by shipping them off to Siberia.

Benjamin, the second of three sons, was born in 1947. When he was 7, the family moved to his mother's native Moldova. His father was a doctor, and his mother taught elementary school.

His parents wanted him to become a doctor or a violinist, but Elfant had his sights on the circus. He would watch it on TV and attend all the touring shows. He would juggle whatever he could find around the house. "My mom always found the potatoes under the bed and under the couch."

When he got older, he'd go backstage and chat with the visiting performers. They told him about an office in Kiev, where entertainers stopped between shows. For months Elfant made his plans, but confided in no one. One July morning when he was 15, he cracked open his kitty bank, packed a rucksack, then hopped a bus for the six-hour trip to Kiev.

Since he was younger than 16 - the age when he could obtain a passport - no circus would hire him. At night, he slept in a bus at a depot thanks to a friendly driver; during the day, he hung around the circus office or got spare change on the trolley by pretending to collect for tickets.

After a month, he was hired as the assistant to a Chinese magician and his Russian wife, a juggler. He called his folks with the news, then fended them off when they came to Kiev to try to persuade him to come home. Over the next few years, Elfant got a crash course in the circus business.

The army put an end to his apprenticeship. Initially, he trained on tanks, but his off-duty juggling so impressed the brass that he was transferred to an entertainment unit. So instead of commanding one of the Soviet tanks that crushed the 1968 Prague Spring, his role was to juggle for his fellow soldiers. They needed cheering up, he says. "Most of the Russian people didn't want" the invasion, he says.

After his release from the army, Elfant could finally pursue his dream to join the Moscow Circus, which at the time was "the foremost place of the circus world," according to circus historian Dominique Jando, a longtime associate of the Big Apple Circus.

Its performers, who were held in as high esteem as members of the Bolshoi, studied at the elite State College of Circus and Variety Arts in Moscow. After three grueling years there, he was a full-fledged acrobatic juggler.

In one of his most spectacular routines at the Moscow Circus, he was bottom man in a tower of three jugglers, one atop the other. They tossed clubs among themselves and with a fourth member who stood opposite. At the climax, the spotlight was killed, and they juggled by the light of fluorescent clubs.

On the home front, his marriage to a budding juggler broke up after a few years. Single again, he was enchanted by "a beautiful woman" he saw on a Moscow bus. Her name was Zina. She was an economist; he told her he was an engineer. It wasn't until after several dates that he confessed he was in the circus. Zina was taken aback at first, but he won her over. Thirty years later, they are still married. Elfant has two sons, one from each marriage.

As the Soviet Union began to unravel and anti-Semitic parties emerged, Elfant and Zina began to fear for their safety. After his younger brother moved to Brookline in the mid-'80s, he and Zina decided to follow. They knew it was a gamble. "My wife told me you would be like your brother, a cab driver," he says.

Like Clemens showing up

Elfant's optimism was tested that first year in America. Those wondrous hands that had dazzled so many circus fans were put to work washing dishes and delivering platters at a Russian restaurant in Revere.

His chance came when a Jewish social service agency suggested he stop by the MIT Juggling Club. Barry Rosenberg of Wellesley, who has been juggling professionally for 20 years, recalls Elfant's club debut. "It was like Roger Clemens or Curt Schilling showing up and saying, 'Let's play catch, guys,' " says Rosenberg, whose day job is technical writing.

Performing as a team, Rosenberg and Elfant won a competition at the 1994 summer festival of the International Jugglers' Association in Vermont. But Elfant's technical skills would not be enough for him to succeed as a performer in America. Here, the typical juggling show is more "like a comedy club with a few feats of dexterity thrown in," says Rosenberg.

Rosenberg teamed up with Elfant at Faneuil Hall. "Those first few shows were a real struggle." But Elfant persevered, quickly mastering English and closely watching other acts, Rosenberg recalls.

"I am a good learner," says Elfant. "I saw how to handle Americans. American people like to be involved, entertained more."

He connected with booking agencies, advertised, and within a few years was performing regularly. When he became a citizen in 1997, some 100 members of the clown community crowded into the Brookline condo he had just bought.

"He's the most unselfish man I've met in my life," says Daniel Mann of Providence, who performs under the name Danoe the Clown. Mann, 41, says that when he was starting out as a juggler in the early '90s, he spent a full day each week at Elfant's home learning the craft. "He never asked for anything," he says.

The Red Sox were fans of Elfant before he became a fan of theirs.

After a rainout several years ago, Elfant was performing in the concourse when a player walked by and yelled out, "Hello, Benjamin."

"I says hello, but I didn't know him," Elfant says.

The fans, though, knew Johnny Damon and were mighty impressed that Damon knew Elfant. Before Damon donned pinstripes, he had seen Elfant perform in a show for Red Sox families.

Elfant has turned himself into a one-man vaudeville revue, shuffling his bill of magic, juggling, and balancing acts to suit his audience.

Depending on the venue, he says, he makes $200 to $400 a show.

And he still astonishes crowds when he tosses a tennis ball into a cup atop a 20-foot pole teetering on his forehead. But it's his personality - that clown he had to conceal for so long - that keeps his date book full.

"Clowns are like good wine," says Jando. "They get better with age."

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"Humor is everywhere, in that there's irony in just about anything a human does."

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Cause for Concern 

“I’ve got God’s shoulder to cry on. And I cry a lot. I do a lot of crying in this job. I’ll bet I’ve shed more tears than you can count, as president.”

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dane101.com

Anyone with flaws can be a clown. The trick is understanding what makes you vulnerable and showing that onstage.

— Krin Haglund

When I was growing up my Mom would often threaten to send me to "clown school in Florida." She probably didn't know that my actions may have just been my inner clown trying to get out and - just maybe - some time in clown school may have led me down a path similar to Krin Haglund.

On September 8 and 9 Haglund is offering Madisonians the opportunity to discover their inner clowns with a workshop at the Madison Center for Cultural and Creative Arts. Haglund, a Madison native, has been a professional clown for six years and spent the previous four years performing with Montreal’s Cirque Eloize “Rain” - one of the most critically acclaimed circuses in the world. Haglund was hand picked by director Daniele Finzi Pasca after he saw Haglund's work with the Bay Area’s New Pickle Circus. She was the first woman to perform the Cyr Wheel (the single wheel) professionally.

Haglund said she is coming back to her hometown after she suffered a fall, "my highwire was rigged incorrectly and the rigger didn’t have the lines. I’m recovered, humbled and completely committed to expanding the art of emotive circus. I plan to move back to Madison and start my circus operations here."

The first part of that move to Madison includes the clowning workshop. She said that while growing up in Madison there was little opportunity for actual circus training, "As a kid I trained at MadTown Twisters, Ballet Madison and then Kanopy for 5 years. My professional circus training came from San Francisco’s Circus Center and the Clown Conservatory, as well as many professional workshops
in Montreal."

However, it was the ballet training in Madison that gave Haglund her first clues that she may be destined for a...more amusing route, "As a dancer, my missteps and quirky moves were a liability. When I found clowning, my strange way of moving became my signature."

Haglund says everyone has a clown inside, "Anyone with flaws can be a clown. The trick is understanding what makes you vulnerable and showing that onstage. Most people fit naturally into one of the large groups of clowns--high status, 'White-faced,' or low status, "Auguste," clowns.

This requires first understanding and then exaggerating what makes you unique.

Children are tricky, though. Kids are naturally very funny, but when they try to be funny they are not. It takes a lot of light-hearted repetition to get them to look "naturally" funny."

The type of clowning that she teaches is different from the clowns you may see at a three-ring circus passing through town, she explains, "I work in a very natural type of clowning influenced by European, one-ring traditions. The movements can be small and subtle and I encourage my students to talk to the audience. American-style three ring shows require the clown to be huge in their gestures and gags.

Personally, I don't wear a red-nose, although I have in the past."

She also encourages anyone who may have coulrophobia (a fear of clowns) to come out to the workshop. She insists that clowns "don't bite."

More information on the workshop:

Introduction to Clown
Intensive workshop led by Krin Maren Haglund
Saturday, 8 September 200, 10-1:00, 2-5:00 pm
Sunday, 9 September 2007, 1-5:00 pm
Madison Center for Cultural and Creative Arts, 306
West Dayton Street, 608-251-ARTS
Enrollment: $125.00 Limited Space
Please email

Posted by /0/ at 08:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Battle Creek Enquirer

Ganny Zelda, Petunia and Dusty invite you to join the Red Cross Clown Troupe. Mark your Calendar for Monday evenings starting September 10th, through Ocober 22.

Posted by /0/ at 08:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Seacoastonline

Pounds of Clowns members pose at the Stratham Community Church. Back row from left: Beth “The Balloon Lady” Booth; Dave “Topper” Anderson; Joan “Princess Tool-ip” Gillis; Charlie “ChooChoo Charlie” Fogarty. Front row: Pam “Flora” Papadinis and Dave “Bubblegum” Dodge. Also in the alley and at the meeting were Mary “Delight” Sheehan and original club members Eric “Cheezo” Persson and Marie “M.E.” Persson, who operate www.clownsupplies.com from their home in Pittsfield. Gina Carbone photos

Joan "Princess Tool-ip" Gillis was new at balloon-twisting. The Manchester resident took some balloons to teach her grandchildren and they requested she make a Martian. Gillis had never done anything like that before but did her best, creating something that wouldn't impress her peers, never mind win sculpting awards. The kids didn't care. They were ecstatic with their Martian. It taught Gillis a lesson, one she repeated at the Pounds of Clowns meeting on Aug. 20 in Stratham: "It's not the balloons, it's not the tricks, it's not the magic. It's the fact that you're paying attention to that person."

It's a clown's job to make people feel special. Pounds of Clowns is holding a six-week clown school starting Sept. 17 so more people can share the love. Plus, you know how many clowns can fit in those cars.

"We just want more people in the alley," says Eric "Cheezo" Persson of Pittsfield. "It's more fun."

Persson has been a clown since 1974. He got into the business by helping his brother, who is also a clown. His wife, Marie "M.E." Persson, owns Clown Supplies, a store and Web site they currently run from their Pittsfield home (which includes a bathroom entirely decorated with Bozo the Clown items). They are both original members of Pounds of Clowns — Alley 240 in Clowns of America International, the parent organization.

The term alley comes from the alley between two tents at a circus. That was where the clowns got into character. Persson says Pounds of Clowns, which started in Somersworth in 1993, got its name from the 200-plus pounds of the original members. Now about 12-14 (not so heavy) members from all over New Hampshire and northern Massachusetts meet the third Monday of the month at the Stratham Community Church, home to the Rev. David "Bubblegum" Dodge, the group's current president.

Meet the alley

Every clown gets to the alley in his or her own way.

For Dodge, it was a matter of balancing out "too many funerals" with a little joy. He performed clown ministry for years, then connected with Pounds of Clowns and attended the Mooseburger Camp clown school in Lenox, Mass. Now he'll be leading the clowns at the Sept. 9 Homecoming Day at his church. The theme is "Under the Big Top," with a dunk tank, face painting and "everyone that comes will get a nose."

Dodge even does Sunday sermons about being a clown, which may sound odd to some, but not him. "If you think about Jesus, most people would think he was a clown," Dodge says. "He did some weird things ... telling people to share everything, love your enemies."

Charlie "ChooChoo Charlie" Fogarty of Rockport, Mass., started just doing what he's best at — twisting balloons. "I had heard about a clown club and I wanted to be around people who twisted balloons." Just balloons, not the rest of it. Still, after Marie Persson told him about Pounds of Clowns, he went to an eight-week clown school in 2002. "It was a blast," Fogarty says. "It was hard because I was really, really shy and quiet. The more you do it the more relaxed you get at it."

Joan "Princess Tool-ip" Gillis — of Martian balloon fame — was interested in being a clown, until she came upon an issue of Calliope magazine. She saw that there were different types of clowns — white face, Auguste, hobos — and all these rules about makeup and behavior, competitions and professional conduct. She just thought "this is a lot of work" and dropped the idea for a while. She returned to it some time later by looking for clown schools online. She came upon the Perssons and they didn't have a school going at the time but invited her to alley meetings. She hung around.

Beth Booth of Lee doesn't really have a clown name. She just does balloons so "people call me 'The Balloon Lady.'" She started in 1988 at her sister's day care. She saw the kids and thought that would be a fun activity. She made her own special clown outfit for a job but was never hired for it. Still, she ended up with a good costume. Then "out of the blue this Persson called me and asked if I want to be in a group," she says. And now? "Some people pay me to have fun!"

Pam "Flora" Papadinis of Deerfield says she's the "baby" clown-wise. She winters in Fort Myers, Fla., and in the early spring of 2006 she read an announcement in the paper about a clown school.

"I didn't know it, but that's what I wanted to do my whole life."

Dave "Topper" Anderson of Newton joined Pounds of Clowns about six year ago to enhance what he was doing as a magician. He stumbled into the Perssons' shop and asked "as I put it then, 'Do you have one of those long balloons?'" He got to talking about Pounds of Clowns and was told "all you have to do is pay your dues and you can come to meetings for free." And it actually worked. "I was a magician who toiled over a deck of cards. When it came to entertaining children, I didn't even begin until after these guys."

Mary "Delight" Sheehan of Exeter has been a clown since 1996 and the artist is known as a "super face painter." "Somebody needed a face painter quickly so they asked me if I would face paint. It was so much fun to be with the kids. It's not like an art studio — you get immediate reaction from the kids."

All ages entertainment

While clowns may have specialties, they become skilled at many things — puppets, costumes, storytelling, face painting, juggling, balloons and making those pies in the face (hint: use shaving cream).

"It's a great hobby," Sheehan says. "It pays for itself."

Persson has been a full-time clown — "every day of the week" — since 1991. Most of the others have day jobs, not that they always take precedence.

Fogarty, a welder, says, "if somebody calls me for a birthday party, I'll do that birthday party." Not just for the money, but "because it's more fun."

As you might expect, most clown events are for kids, but they also do company parties for adults and entertain seniors.

"I get a lot of parties for adults from the kids," Persson says. "You take care of everybody, if you're a good clown."

Often kids are thrilled to see clowns, but you have to know what to do for each age group.

"Under 3 is too young and 10 or older they're too cool," Papadinis says.

"Older kids respect skill more," Anderson says.

All of the clowns at the meeting laugh when asked if people comment when they drive to events fully dressed.

"It's fun if you pull up to a stoplight," Papadinis says.

"When there are kids in the car it's terrific. It's a freebie for them and for you," Anderson says.

"Sometimes it's sad if they don't notice," Persson says. "You go through the checkout and no one says anything. It's sad."

When clowns are scary...

There are a lot of good clowns out there. Red Skelton, Bozo and Carol Burnett are mentioned. Anderson names legendary Ringling Brothers clown David Larible. But he also adds Larible's comment that the U.S. is the only country in the world where the word "clown" is used as a derogatory statement. Clowning around. Acting like a clown.

Anderson says pop culture has done a lot of damage to the clown reputation. "Howard Stern has clowns following him around doing unspeakable things." Stephen King's "It" just added to coulrophobia (fear of clowns). Even Krusty the Clown of "The Simpsons" is targeted, since he "cements the image that clowns are losers who have stooped to this level to make money," Anderson says. "Some of the finest people I know are involved in clowning. People who will go to visit a nursing home or hospital just to make someone smile."

But some people are just uncomfortable around clowns. "I understand that," Sheehan says. "It can be scary."

"That's when we go to light Auguste," Persson says of the most natural-looking clown with the least amount of makeup. Clowns in white face and white hands towering over kids — "You know what you look like (to them)? You look like a monster."

"There will always be the kid who will just be horrified," Anderson says. The problem is when parents push the kids and just say "don't be afraid, he's fun."

The best thing to do, Persson says, is let the child watch the other kids getting balloons and having fun. If the child is given a chance to get comfortable and see what she or he is missing, that usually does the trick.

Leave them wanting more

Gail Champagne of Newmarket sits quietly during the discussion. She's not a clown yet but is considering joining the alley. She looked in the telephone book to try and find a place to learn face painting. She found this group and came to tonight's meeting to learn more. After hearing Pounds of Clowns members talk and seeing them get into character, what does she think?

"I'm impressed," she says.

It's not hard to impress outsiders. As Gillis pointed out, it's not the point. But it's still fun. Anderson tells of twisting balloons for another group of kids. Like Gillis, he wasn't breaking the mold. And yet he was hearing "These are the best balloons I've ever seen." He wanted to tell the kids there are masters out there, like "ChooChoo Charlie" Fogarty, who can do so much more. "But I stopped myself," Anderson says, instead telling them, "That's because I'm the best in the world!"

Posted by /0/ at 08:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

a leap across a chasm

Imagine you had a clown in your kitchen.

Bright red nose, painted face, huge floppy shoes, baggy trousers, the full outfit. Just sitting there right on your worktop in between your kettle and your toaster.

The first time you saw him, no doubt you'd get quite a shock.

What’s this clown doing in my kitchen??! Unless you live next door to a circus, it’s unlikely you’ve had a clown in your kitchen all that often before...

The next time you go in your kitchen, he’s still there. You still jump a little, but it’s not as big a shock as the first time.

A few weeks pass and by this time, you're getting used to Bobo being there.

Sometimes you even make him a cup of tea and engage him in polite conversation. “LOVE those shoes. Do they come in any sizes smaller than a 30 Extra Extra Wide?”

Months down the line though, you don't even notice him anymore.

He’s blended into the background, become part of what you expect to see in your kitchen when you make your breakfast every morning.

Friends come round for dinner. Friends you don’t see very often.

"Hey there's a clown in your kitchen!" they shout in surprise.

"Oh yeh," you reply. “We don't really notice him anymore, he's part of the furniture”.

So how does having a clown in your kitchen drain your creativity?

Remember when the clown first appeared? What a shock it was? Then how over time, the impact of him being in your kitchen got less and less until months later you barely noticed him.

It's the same with the kind of negative, destructive thinking that slowly kills your creativity, often without you even realising.

The thoughts start off kind of obvious.

Just as you settle down to begin a new project, they appear in your mind:

“Why are you even bothering to start? You know this’ll end in failure, you’ll mess it up just like you do all the other projects. Stop kidding yourself, you haven’t got any creative talents anyway.”

If you were with a friend who was just starting a new creative project and they this said this out loud, how would you react?

It’s unlikely you’d let it pass without comment, and without reassuring them that they have LOADS of creative talents and they DON’T mess up everything they start, and then produce the evidence to prove it.

Why is it ok to turn a deaf ear when you say the same to yourself?

Because they’re just clowns in your kitchen.

They’ve been around so long, and been heard so many times, that you don’t notice them anymore.

But this is the precise reason WHY they’re so dangerous.

Although it SEEMS you don’t notice them on the surface, deeper in your subconscious you’re absorbing every negative comment, every disparaging word.

And this adds negative pressure and makes it more and more difficult for you to create.

So what’s the solution? How DO you get the clown out of your kitchen?

Step one, you have to recognise the negative thoughts as they appear.

Step two is turning them around, replacing them with something more positive.

Here’s an example:

Negative thought: Why are you even bothering to start this project? You know it'll end in failure.

Positive Turnaround: The only way to truly fail is not to begin in the first place. Each time I get a result I don’t expect, I can learn from it. Then I’m in a better, more informed position to take the next step.

This won’t be easy at first, it takes patience and practice.

Make the commitment to start right now. Each time you have a negative, critical thought, stop it, write it down, and turn it around into one more positive. The more you do it the easier it’ll become.

Stick with it and the positive rewards for your creativity in all aspects can be quite profound, and more dramatic than you could have imagined.

Posted by /0/ at 07:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Mississauga News

Christine Attia is all smiles as Dilly Dally the clown (a.k.a. Tony Bashford) creates a balloon sword for her at a fundraising barbeque yesterday held by the Eden Food Bank.

Posted by /0/ at 07:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)