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Clowning around for a good cause

Circus and carnival performers put on the Showmen's Charity Circus. For many, it's like a reunion.

By S.I. ROSENBAUM
Published January 20, 2006

	[Times photos: Brian Cassella]
	Kitana Silverlake, 9 of Gibsonton, eats popcorn in the stands during an intermission of the circus performance Saturday. The Showmen's Association held three shows on their grounds in Gibsonton on Saturday with volunteer performers. They proceeds went to charities that support retired circus performers, many of whom have made their homes in Gibsonton.

At age 15, Simone Dykes is already a 10-year circus veteran. To her, hanging from her toes from a trapeze is like breathing.

But this night, she was nervous. This was no ordinary crowd.

This was the annual Showmen's Charity Circus, and the stands were packed with fellow circus performers.

"It's nerve-wracking," Simone said later. "You want to impress people. You want to do a good job (because) you have all the circus people in the audience."

The yearly circus show held last weekend was hosted by the Showmen's Association, the carnival workers' trade organization based in Gibsonton. Performers donate their time and talents for three shows throughout the day. All proceeds go to the Showmen's Association's charitable fund.

For the public, it's a great opportunity to see first-class acts in an old-fashioned, one-ring big top: elephant acts, trained ponies the size of Labrador retrievers, aerialists and clowns.

For show people, however, this circus is a kind of reunion. Many make it a point to come to the show, and others flock to the after-party, which lasts until early the next morning.

Lee Stevens, the circus manager who organized this year's show, explained: Because of their unique lifestyle, show people form close bonds with each other. Yet they can often go years without seeing each other.

Every summer, carnivals and circuses take to the road. Carnies and performers spend the months on a grueling travel schedule, sharing close quarters. Many say they feel like family by the end of the season.

"It's a neighborhood," Stevens said. "It moves, but it's a neighborhood."

When the season is over, the show or carnival breaks up. People might not see each other for years.

"As a teenager, I would cry at the end of every season," said Trudy Strong, who had a 50-year career as an aerialist and a tiger trainer.

She volunteered for this year's show. She said walking back into the big top felt like coming back to her own living room.

On Saturday, between acts, Stevens moved through the big top, stopping every few minutes to hug, kiss or pump the hand of someone he knew.

"Two heart attacks and cancer, and I'm still fine," he said when old friends asked how he was.

No one knows how this particular show became the place where people gather. But after the last performance at 8:30 p.m., the real party begins.

Show people gather in the nearby clubhouse to dance, play pool and talk through the night, until it's time for breakfast at the Giant's Camp.

You never know who you're going to see, said Jack Cook, 55, a third-generation clown who's still performing the same routine invented by his grandfather.

"It's a good place to come out, just to see people you haven't seen, reminisce, tell old stories," he said in between acts, still in his clown makeup.

[Last modified January 19, 2006, 08:52:06]