Writing about clowns on stilts could be considered a delicate balancing act, but I assure you, the story below did happen as written or at least to the best of my memory, that is. After all, I did fall and land on my head.
I have mixed feelings to hear that elephants are being retired within the next three years from the circus that comes to our hometown. Watching giant pachyderms lumber past, so close you could reach out and touch them, is one of my fondest memories of attending the circus with my parents while living at 110 Flamingo Street.
Other fond memories are pink cotton candy stuck in The Sister’s hair, pouring sawdust down Twin Brother Mark’s pants, throwing popcorn at my older brothers, tossing peanuts to the elephants for them to have a snack as they passed, and of course, clowns on stilts. These were circus memories from my childhood and the biggest one, elephants, is now being taken away. Glad I still have clowns on stilts.
When I was 8 years old, the three-ringed circus stayed in town for a month. After the last show, we sadly watched as the Big Top finally came down. With the stakes pulled up and the animals carefully stowed away for the long trip to the next town, the caravan of trucks left our small town behind.
They also left something else behind — a large mound of elephant poo, the best thing to put on a garden. It was free for anyone who wanted it, and Dad certainly wanted it. My three brothers and me wanted something else from the circus – clown stilts.
Unfortunately the circus wasn’t giving away their clown stilts, so it was up to us to build our own. We pooled all the money we saved from returning bottles and bought the wood necessary for our clown stilts. We used eight-foot-long 2 X 2’s for the stilts and nailed blocks for foot-holds on each. Standing on them isn’t as easy as clowns in the circus made it seem.
Balancing on just one stilt, then lifting the other to whack someone without falling took a lot of practice. We spent the entire day Saturday and half of Sunday walking all over our backyard fighting. By Sunday afternoon we all were clown-stilt-whacking experts. Then someone had to get hurt and spoil all the fun, and for once, it wasn’t me.
Our whacking fun Sunday afternoon was cut short ‘cause one of Bubba Hank’s stilts broke. He fell six feet, broke his wrist, and Dad rushed him to the hospital.
Saying he was mad would be an understatement — Dad, not Bubba. Bubba thought it was cool he got a cast from clown stilt fighting. Still, my three brothers or me being hurt was normal; a neighborhood kid being hurt in our backyard was something else. Dad just didn’t understand how we could think such weak stilts could hold our weight, much less Bubba Hanks’s. He made each of us promise never to do such a reckless thing again. That’s why the very next weekend; we made new stilts out of 2 X 4’s.
The new stilts were much heavier so we used a bunch of Dad’s belts to strap our legs to them. Over six feet up in the air, with both arms free, the stilts elevated water balloon battles to a whole new level.
Unfortunately, with both legs strapped, it was impossible to jump off when toppled by a stilt kick from one of my brothers, which is how I was finally defeated and landed on my head. Why my head? Didn’t want to break my wrist like Bubba.
That day, Dad took his second trip to the hospital in less than a week. I’m not sure, but I think he got a discount. The fall put an end to our stilt fighting forever and was the start of our backyard trapeze act. But that’s another story, and more injuries, for another time.
When the circus comes to town this year, be sure to take your kids to see the elephants. It will give them memories for a lifetime and, hopefully after the tents are down and animals are all gone, it won’t give them any broken bones.
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is [email protected]. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
