Carnival Days

I was texting with a friend yesterday. We were talking about what books we’re each reading right now. Me? I just finished Everyone In My Family Has Killed Someone by Benjamin Stevenson (definitely recommend). Mark’s reading a collection of novellas by Stephen King. I mentioned that I first read King when I was on the road with the carnival in the mid-late ‘70s. I wasn’t into horror fiction (still not) but, in rural Texas, it was impossible to find books anywhere but the local chain pharmacies and supermarkets, which only carried mass market romance horseshit, thrillers and horror stories.

Given how much I talk, talk, talk, I was surprised to read that Mark didn’t already know I’d once been a carny. Frankly, I’m surprised I’d been with it—for the better part of three seasons too. Those were different, weird and, thankfully long ago times. I sent Mark a few (or more) links to give him an idea of what I did, what life was like.

No, I was never in a sideshow like the girl turning into a gorilla show. More’s the pity. That might've been more fun. Here, below, are some of my tales.

I’m Gonna Run Away and Join the Carnival
     How I got there.

Goat Ropers, Corn Dogs and Hey Rube
     We rolled into Hoxie, Kansas in early August—a town with a feed and grain, three Baptist churches, two bars and a laundromat. Things looked somewhat less than promising...

NOT a town I’ve ever been tempted to revisit.

Carny Roommates

Carnival and Chicago Punk

Born to be Mild
     We were playing some tiny town just outside of Lincoln, Nebraska when word came down the midway that bikers were passing through town and headed our way, to the carnival. I got the definite impression from my fellow jointees that this was supposed to inspire me with fear. Being 19, too trusting of folks who didn’t fall in with the mainstream and interested in whatever new experiences could come my way, I was intrigued. That and, being short on experience and imagination, I was wondering why, in god’s name, carnies would fear bikers...

Carnival Kidnapping
     This was at the end of my first season with the show and I was majorly sick of the 1950s-esque restrictions. You know, “don’t sleep with any of the guys unless you’re gonna shack up with him for the season.” You see, everyone would think I was nothing but a stone whore if I just went off for a one night stand. Christ, I thought I’d escaped high school tiny brained male/female horseshit!...

Nope.

Northline
     The close of my carny years and a close encounter with an evil, slime breathing yet charming and attractive pimp.

In another month or two, it will be 43 years since I came off the road. It all feels like a dream or like events that someone else lived through and told me about over more than a few strong cocktails one night.