Coming Home...

I went to Clown College (Ringling Brothers And Barnum & Bailey Clown College) in 1987.  

If you went to Clown College, you know to always use the entire moniker.  It was as important to us as never showing ourselves half in make-up.  We represented the Greatest Show on Earth.  

I've been a clown for 26 years.  And that's a hard thing to explain.  Saying "I've been a clown since..."  doesn't capture me.  I simply am clown.   Saying I'm a clown,  is like saying I grew up Jewish or I'm a Californian, an American.  It’s what make me, me. 

I can move to other countries, I could move to another state, I could suddenly believe in Jesus find a job, yet I would always be  Californian, Jewish, American and Clown.  That’s my hard wiring.

I'm getting a chance to muse as I return from Sarasota, Florida, from the Ringling Clown College reunion.  (it's terribly uncomfortable still to not say Ringling Brothers And Barnum & Bailey Clown College Reunion but damn that's long).

When I went to Clown College so many years ago, I didn't know I was a clown.  I got off a plane from San Francisco, was picked up at the Sarasota Airport, went into a converted hanger that was winter quarters for Ringling (ahhh, I need to write the whole thing out) when I stepped off the bus I was home.  For the first time. I was comfortable in my own skin. I looked around, I met people, we understood each other, so very clearly.  

Going to the Clown College Reunion, I'm again, comfortable in my skin.  I don't have to qualify my profession, my art.  To everyone there, I just am clown.  I can’t explain being a clown, the question always confuses me.  Asking me why I’m a clown is like asking why I’m a male.  I don’t know, just born that way. 

In my reunion,  Funny is religion.  

You want to hurt a fellow alumni, don't make fun of their wife or how fat or bald they’ve become,  Tell them they aren't funny.  You can hear that insult bandied about everywhere you go.  

I spent the last 4 days freely making dick jokes and pretending to hump a fellow alumni.  No worry of going too far or being thought of as weird.  Weird would be not going for it. 

We discuss clowning and discuss and discuss and discuss.  That's not enough, so we discuss some more.  Does this ever get tiring?  Nope.  That's why it's so hard to leave the circus.  A crappy job, back breaking work, low pay with the reward being clown all day. And it’s so worth it.

To most everyone at the reunion, it's not even about the crappy job.  You're where you're supposed to be and that's around clowns.  

I came from the world of acting. I didn't know what clowns were, I just wanted to perform.  I remember doing a play in college and my friend Gary Kramer said, "you know, you're the clown's clown.  You need other clowns to appreciate you."  I think he meant it as a jab.  I was so thrilled with that comment, I put it on my first business card.  To me, that’s always been my favorite compliment of all time.  I’m the Clown’s Clown.  

In clowning, we don't deal in backstory, we don't do sense memory.  We let our unlit selves into the light and do and be.  We don't "get into" character, it's always there.  Open the tap in our brains and out it comes.  As easy as...well opening a tap.  If you have to somehow get into character, you’re a pale imitation of a clown. 

I often feel cursed.  Being a clown is not well appreciated by my family. In fact, I feel sorry for my wife, my children my mother.  While I listen to my family, I filter everything through this odd colander called clown.    That has to be frustrating to be close to me. Ask most clowns and they will admit, they are lucky they’re still married, that someone tolerates us. 

Plus, I’m a terrible provider.

I could work at Wendy's and make more money.  Clowning takes a toll on my body and I'm angry at myself for not being as flexible as I want or gangly.  I don’t mind being slightly overweight and bald, it’s funny.  (To my friend Jeff Schott, you have no idea, how jealous I am of your gangliness).  

Being at the reunion, being clown for these past 4 days, I'm alive and at peace.  

I come home not fighting who I am.  I come home just realizing, I'm clown.  My every waking moment.  Funny.  Actually that’s a lie too.  I sometimes wake up from a dream laughing, fooling myself that I’ll remember the joke in the morning. (I never do, I really should put a pad and pen next to the bed, so I can get the middle of the night gags...oh well).