Happy the Clown and Captain Jack

It was the summer of 1964, just a bit before my sixth birthday. We, my parents, my older sister and I were in New Haven visiting my mother’s brothers and their families. I believe we stayed in a small suite of rooms at the old Taft Hotel.

My mother had fixed up a real treat for Carol and I -- we’d get to be in the audience for a taping of The Happy the Clown show. I think it was Happy the Clown anyway. Maybe it was The Flippy the Clown Show. I know it was a guy in a big floppy, brightly colored costume and sorority sister levels of pancake makeup though.

Man oh man I was twelve kinds of psyched!

What I figured on was a giddily funny guy who spent a lot of time making us laugh, feel important and would let us sit as close we wanted to the GIANT TV screen. We'd gobble sticky, sweet confections, ones forbidden at home, while watching Heckyl and Jeckyl and Bugs.

Here’s what I didn’t expect -- reality. This was a television show and we kids were nothing more than props. We had to practice cheering and were admonished for not squealing enthusiastically enough. Apart from that we were ignored.

The grouch in the big, bright floppy suit had a total lack of interest in us except for the one segment where he was filmed sitting cozy with a few ‘lucky’ souls. When the cameras were off he had all the charm of Krusty and none of the cool.

Yeah, I was one primo bummed five year old. I figured 'at least we'll get to watch cartoons -- it'll be like in a movie theater too.'
Ah no. The screen was miniscule and waaaaay down the other end of the bleachers from where I was sitting. I clearly recall thinking 'This blows, I can see better at home!' OK, possibly, that's not exactly what went through my little mind but it's really bloody close.

I don't recall whether there was a snack now but I know for sure that we didn't get the cupcakes and cannolis of my dreams.

We got back to the hotel to find my father thoroughly engrossed in what was on the small black and white television. He was watching the news. I stood by him, hoping to get a chance to tell him about our adventure.

What was more important than our time on the The Happy the Clown Show? The Gulf of Tonkin Incident.

Sheesh. What’s next? No Santa? No Easter Bunny? Daddy’s the one who slips the nickel under my pillow when I lose a tooth?!!!!!

Thanks but I think I’d like to go back to my fairy tale land of happy clowns, all the cartoons I want, frosted cupcake snacks and no war.

What brings this to mind? A friend who grew up in Miami was, in one of our usual deep, existential tète-à-tètes, relating the story of the times he and his sister had gone on the Banjo Billy Show and met, the recently quit of this good green earth, Captain Jack. I don't think his experience was quite as jolting or maybe he was a five year old with fewer illusions than I.